Thicker than Water
by Heretic.Knight.515
Summary: "The wise man must remember that while he is a descendant of the past, he is a parent of the future,"  -Herbert Spencer
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Here it is! Remember to review.**

He wasn't really concerned. Not really. Because, like every other morning over the past few months, the first arrangement of thoughts was her name.

_Sheila_.

Jack drew in a deep, slow breath. And smiled. Then he opened his eyes.

Unusual. He wasn't looking at a bare steel plate, inches from his head. The top bunk of the _Commonwealth_ was gone. The ceiling was much more aesthetically pleasing-smooth white plastic. The air tasted different. It was… not _cleaner_, because no air was cleaner than what came from the military-strength scrubbers on the _Commonwealth_. It was… richer. Heartier. It smelled like pine trees. Not the fake pine-tree-smell, either. The real thing, like back home.

Home. Had this all been a dream? Was any of what he'd experienced in the Halo universe real? Did Sheila _exist_?

He lurched upward, tearing out two IVs. He barely noticed.

This room was civilian…ish. Angular lines, steel construction. But it had a recliner, a mini-fridge, and what looked like an entertainment center with a holo-projector. Blue carpeting… definitely not UNSC issue. It was small. Was he in someone's first apartment?

Jack became aware of a ringing alarm. Three guys burst in from a door. One of them was Jorge.

"Jorge!" Jack coughed. His throat was full of junk.

"Glad to see you're awake, mate," Jorge grinned in that older-brotherly way that Jack remembered.

"What's going on?" Jack asked. Jorge's smile became fixed.

"Well… it's a long story. I think it's best that the Doctor explain."

Jack didn't know why, but he was just so _glad_ to see the big son of a bitch. He noticed Jorge had… what?

"I'm sorry, man. But do you have _wrinkles_?" Jack chuckled.

"Afraid so, mate. It's a stressful job I do. Plus the other factor," Jorge grinned.

"What other factor?" Jack asked.

"It is very good to see you awake," Dr. Halsey appeared from behind the towering Spartan.

"Good to be awake," Jack yawned. "How long was I out? Where's Li and Sheila?"

"Well…," Dr. Halsey said carefully. "Try to remember. What happened yesterday?"

"Huh," Jack frowned. He thought back.

"We… were taking on Asef. We stormed an apartment complex…," Jack said slowly. "I remember being in charge of the mission, because I asked Sheila,"

"Yes," Jorge said soberly. Jack noticed that Dr. Halsey had gray in her hair.

"We got to Asef… and…," Jack remembered.

_ "You should have dealt with me peaceably, Jack. Now I get to take four Spartans from the UNSC," The bricks of plastic explosive lining the walls gleamed…_

"There was an explosion," Jack whispered. "A big one,"

"Yes," Jorge said sadly.

"Is she ok?" Jack burst out, jumping off the hospital bed, tearing out the last IV.

"Yes," Jorge grabbed him around the shoulders. Holding him still.

"She is?" Jack asked wildly.

"Yes, Jack. About as well as you were," Jorge said.

"What do you mean?"

"Jack… sit down," Halsey commanded. He did. Jorge grabbed some bandages, and wrapped up Jacks wounds. He was dripping blood everywhere, from the IV holes.

"Jack… that explosion killed you. It killed all of Gold Team. There was a mistake in the wiring-less than four of the plastic explosive bricks detonated on time. By the time the rest had exploded, Gold was blown out of its path,"

"Through three walls," Jorge said.

"It saved you from the rest of the bomb," Halsey said. "But you all still were badly hurt, Jack. If medical personnel hadn't been on-hand, you wouldn't have made it,"

"We got thrown in cryo. There wasn't a beating heart among us," Jorge said grimly.

"If it wasn't for the MJOLNIR armor, and the ceramic in your bones… you would have had no chance. But they took enough of the damage to leave your brain intact, albeit damaged," Dr. Halsey said.

"I… I…," Jack stuttered.

"We were mulch," Jorge said solidly. "We got put in cryo within minutes,"

"And I spent a considerable amount of time and energy using flash-cloned parts and delicate surgery to patch you up," Catherine said. "Jorge I fixed first. Then you… but you were more hurt than the rest, being closer to the explosives. After ensuring you were… stable, I worked on Li,"

"How much of me is… me?" Jack asked.

"Well, every cell in your body naturally dies and is replaced every seven years or so…," Dr. Halsey trailed off at Jack's glare.

"Roughly six percent. It was an extensive rebuilding process," She said apologetically.

"Damn," Jack breathed, laying back down , in shock.

"I wasn't much better: eleven percent," Jorge said with a shrug. "Still going strong,"

"Jorge wanted to wake you up earlier," Dr. Halsey said. "But I figured you would want to wake up around the time that Sheila did. I took the opportunity to do some follow-up surgery,"

"What did you do?" Jack asked, horrified.

"Well, you had to be re-augmented. That was done, and much more effectively than last time. With new technologies-"

"What new tech?" Jack demanded.

"Well, for example, instead of the carbide ceramic, we used a reverse-engineered compound. Similar in structure to the material in Hunter shields and armor," Halsey smiled hopefully. "Sixty-three percent stronger. And much more resistant to plasma fire,"

"What else?" Jack asked.

"Well, the same material forms an artificial ribcage. It's more flexible and more resilient. More like plate armor than ribs, I suppose. A regular ribcage is very vulnerable to bullets-one shot could slide between, and puncture your heart or lungs," Dr. Halsey shrugged, slightly pleased with herself. "This makes you much less vulnerable. Your vertebrae have been similarly upgraded,"

"It would take a Brute on steroids to snap your neck," Jorge chuckled. "I almost wish she'd delayed my awakening, too,"

Jack shook his head, wide-eyed. This was too much to take in.

"How long have I been under?"

Jorge shifted weight to his left foot. Dr. Halsey frowned.

"Well?"

"It is January 22, 2530," Dr. Halsey said.

"_What_?" Jack jumped back up.

"I know, I know," Jorge said.

"Five _years_?"

"It was slow going. Command decided to let you stay dead," Dr. Halsey's eyes flared. "I disagreed. I used my own resources and free time to rebuild you,"

"Jesus…," Jack said.

"It was two years, for me. But I know how you feel," Jorge said.

"I… I can't believe…,"

"A lot has changed," Jorge said.

"Like what?"

"Wallace is dead. He bit it in 2528, defending Madrigal," Jorge said. "So he won't be bugging us, anymore. What else, what else… Oh, right, we've got shields,"

"_What_?"

"In your little book," Dr. Halsey said, grinning, "It's revealed that we do, in fact, unlock the technology of Covenant energy shielding. Funding for the reverse-engineering project was being diverted; it looked like a fool's errand, and we needed the money for other, more promising ventures. I pushed hard, and got the money to keep going. We figured it out last year. The Mark V Armor is being developed now, being rushed through the beta-testing. It'll be pretty similar to the IV, except for the shielding,"

"That's... incredible," Jack was stunned. In the books, shielding wasn't realized for soldiers for another twenty years. How many other changes from the canon had Jack inadvertently made?

"What about on ships?" Jack asked.

"Working on it," Dr. Halsey's smile faded. "That's a different issue; much more difficult. But in another five to ten years, every new ship of the line will have shielding,"

Well… damn! The end of Halo 3 was in 2552, and they didn't have shields then. Jack realized he was almost scared. He knew what would happen in the old Halo timeline… but would the future even be recognizable now?

"Where are we?" Jack asked.

"Reach," Jorge said with a broad grin.

"Why?" Jack asked.

"Class Two is underway," Dr. Halsey said. "And Jorge is Commandant of the training program,"

"I… holy shit, really?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Jorge said. "I'm a Lieutenant, now,"

"Damn… sir,"

Jorge laughed.

"You really don't need to call me that,"

"Hey, whatever you say, sir," Jack grinned, and punched him lightly on the shoulder. Pain exploded up his arm, from each joint up to his shoulder.

"_Fuck_!" He gasped, cradling the arm.

"You've been given painkillers, but that doesn't mean you're good to move, Jack," Dr. Halsey said, gently pushing him down onto the bed. Then she re-inserted the IVs.

"You always overdo it," She scolded. "Maybe I should knock you out for a few more weeks,"

"Hell no!" Jack exclaimed. "I've been out long enough!"

"Promise to take it really easy?" She glared at him. He looked down and burned red with chagrin.

"Yeah, sure, mom,"

"Good. Then I'll only put you out for a few hours," She fiddled with the bags above his head, connected to the IVs.

"Hey, come on!" Jack whined. "That's not… not… fair…,"

The world had fuzzed out before his eyes closed.

LLBLBLBLB

"Quit moping,"

"Huh?" Jack blinked away his confusion.

"I said, quit moping. Not doing anyone any favors, especially you," An old man with a mop grinned.

"I'm not moping," Jack said.

"Yes you are," The old man chuckled.

"Even if I was, if wouldn't be any of your business," Jack grunted.

"You made the right decisions. What happened wasn't your fault,"

"Are you the janitor or my new therapist?" Jack rolled on his side.

"Name's Owen. And that's 'Maintenance Officer Owen' to you, kid," Owen said. "Look at me when I'm talking to you. Didn't your parents teach you that?"

"They didn't teach me much," Jack growled, but rolled back over. "You could be Admiral of Cleanliness and I still wouldn't give a shit,"

Jack saw it coming a mile away, and could have stopped it. But he was stunned by the randomness of it, not to mention his petrifying depression. So the upper handle of the mop whacked him in the nose.

"Ow!"

"Didn't your parents teach you manners? Learn a little respect. I've been mopping floors since before you were born," Owen continued not mop the floor, resting his hands on the end. Staring at Jack.

"Disappointing."

"I understand that you have a kung-fu-like mastery of that particular object, but what the hell? That hurt," Jack said.

"I understand that you've kicked plenty of Insurrectionist and Covenant ass, but when I say watch your language, I mean it. You'll get a whupping, boy," Owen grinned.

"You think you can take me?" Jack said, unbelieving.

"I know I can."

"Really?" Jack scoffed.

"Yup," Owen said.

"I've killed dozens of aliens. And people,"

"I've killed hundreds of stains."

"If I wanted to, I could punch the back of your face," Jack said incredulously.

"If I wanted to, I could sweep the Armory."

"I can break your osteoporotic bones like chalk," Jack laughed skeptically.

"I can break chalk." Owen was still grinning.

"Do you _want_ me to kick your ass?" Jack asked, and Owen laughed.

"I want you to try."

Jack tore out the IVs, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Fresh blood welled out of the holes. The old man didn't look intimidated. Jack took a step forward, and winced as pain shot through his legs. He cracked his neck and braced for more, taking another step forward. It hurt, but was manageable.

One more-and the old man's mop whipped up by his head. Jack moved his arm to block-and was stunned by the pain of that simple actions. But it had been a feint.

The mop handle pulled back and jabbed Jack under the ribs.

"_Ah_!" Jack fell to his knees, his arms and legs on fire from catching the floor.

The mop rapped the back of Jack's head, shooting pain up his neck.

"Officially, you're dead. They don't give much help to dead people. I've been assigned as your physical therapist, by the Doc. Until then, mopping the floor comes second," Owen grinned. "Nod once if you surrender,"

Jack knew he'd lost, and he _hated_ it. But he nodded.

"Here," Owen stuck out a hand. Jack took it. The old man gently helped him up and back into the bed.

"You're not much of a physical therapist," Jack grunted through gritted teeth.

"Dr. Halsey has been forwarding me materials on it for months," Owen said, leaning back on the mop. "Out here in the woods, I don't have much else to do. Might as well learn something, get more hours in,"

"That doesn't make any sense," Jack said. "You're a friggin janitor. How can you-"

_Whack_! The mop smacked his midsection.

"You son of a bitch!" Jack locked up, fighting a tidal wave of pain.

"This is physical therapy-getting through the pain and moving forward. And I may be a janitor, but don't think that means I got nothing to teach you," Owen said. "I see it'll take time to learn you your manners,"

"When I get healed up…," Jack snarled.

"Chin up, son. Negative reinforcement is character-building. And besides. I think they made a mistake making you a Spartan before you learned discipline. You need to learn to listen to people."

"How do you know so much stuff about me?" Jack asked. Owen snickered.

"You're fourteen-not that hard to read. Plus, the good doctor has needed someone to vent to. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I think I'm nineteen, now," Jack sighed. "Five years, right?"

Owen laughed. "You don't age in cryo, kid. Maybe a little physically, but not at all mentally. Unconsciousness don't grant wisdom,"

"So I need arthritis and liverspots? Damn," Jack said sadly.

_Whap_!

"Goddammit!"

_Whap_!

"Don't you take the Good Lord's name in vain," Owen said.

"Why the hell not?" Jack growled.

_Whap_!

"Hell is now a no-no," Owen said sternly.

"Ah, come on! Just take my goddamn middle fingers, why don't you?" Jack shouted, and braced himself. But no hit came. He looked up and saw Owen sweating, catching his breath. Leaning heavy on the mop.

"Give it a sec," He panted. "It's coming,"

Jack blinked.

"I'm sorry," He said. "It's just a teenager reflex. Don't have a heart attack or stroke or something,"

_Whack_!

"_What the crap was that for_?" Jack rumbled.

"You got a lot to learn… you big sack of turd," Owen said between breaths.

"Ow," Jack said weakly.


	2. Chapter 2

**1142 Hours, January 23, 2530 (Military Calendar)**

**Spartan-II Training Facility, CLASSIFIED, Reach**

"I know, I know, you're very upset with me," Dr. Halsey said, hands up, smiling.

"Oh ho ho, upset doesn't even freakin' _cover_ it!" Jack said, grinning maniacally.

"Money isn't exactly flying into my pockets these days-"

"He's insane!"

"-And I'm paying him, for your therapy, out of pocket. Better yet, he knows what he's doing," Halsey said.

"He hit me with that mop eighteen times! He only stopped to take his pills and go to lunch!"

"There are several methods of physical therapy. You can inspire, challenge, or provoke your patients into adjusting back to an active lifestyle. Anger is quite an anesthetic-would you have responded so well to a pep talk?" She asked seriously.

"Well… no," Jack snorted.

"Owen is a solid, smart man. He knows what he's doing."

"He's the _janitor_!" Jack cried out in exasperation.

"He's also in his seventies. Experience is an apt teacher," Dr. Halsey looked at him pointedly, apparently trying to shame him a little. Didn't work.

"That doesn't mean he knows anything about getting me back in fighting shape!"

"He knows all he needs to. He's studied hard, for the last couple weeks." Halsey said.

"A couple weeks?" Jack said skeptically.

"Jack, he knows enough," Dr. Halsey said sharply, quickly losing her temper. "And the fact that you're so opposed to it only tells me that he's doing his job,"

"But-"

"Jack, you're acting like a child! I spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars to bring you back from the dead. Don't I deserve a say in how you finish your recovery?" Halsey shouted.

"I…."

"You don't know everything, Jack! You shouldn't refuse the chance to learn from Owen. And so what if a seventy-year-old man hits you with a five-pound stick to get you motivated? You're a Spartan! Don't you have any shame, trying to weasel out of that?"

"Ah…."

"You're going to continue with this therapy. You're going to be fully recovered when Sheila wakes up, so you can help her more effectively. And you will be more respectful to the people who help you. Got it?" Dr. Halsey looked very much like a grizzly bear at that moment.

"I… yeah," Jack looked away.

"Good," She sighed, plopping down on the rotating chair at her desk. "I actually came here for a reason,"

"What is it?" Jack grumbled.

"Some things became apparent while you were comatose. Some very interesting things about your past."

"Like what?" Jack asked.

"Well… they would be shocking under the best of circumstances. If you're experiencing significant pain from beatings by an old man… I think it can wait until after you've recovered more," Halsey smiled wickedly.

"Wow, wow… you can't just stroll in here, drop a bomb like that, and then walk away!" Jack laughed.

"Who knows?" Halsey said slowly. "Maybe I'm not as forgiving as I let on. Maybe I'm still mad at you for being such a brat. Regardless, it would be better for you to find out later,"

Jack smacked his face with his palm, grimacing with the jolt of pain. Then he gingerly set his hand back down.

"That's just cruel," He muttered.

"Possibly," Dr. Halsey said good-naturedly. There was a moment of silence.

"Doc? If you paid for all this… how'd you get my new ribcage and stuff? I mean, that really isn't the kind of thing in the clearance aisle."

"Simple," She said, glad to show off a little. "The same way we fabricate the individual, delicate parts of the MJOLNIR armor. Do you feel up to a short walk?"

"No," Jack said instantly.

"Very well," She said quietly. "A nano-fabricator. Well, it's about a cubic meter. I can't take much credit for it-I just tell Aidan, our AI, what I want and he puts together a three-dee model. When specifications are put into it, the nanomachines inside build from raw material, atom by atom. Each vertebrae took about an hour. It works rather like a three-dimensional printer,"

"Wow," Jack said.

"Indeed. It's made MJOLNIR less expensive by a factor of five. Delicate devices that were very difficult to build can be mass-produced. I wonder… was it in any of the books? Or games?"

"No," Jack said. "I would have remembered it,"

"Then either it was not considered important enough for mention, or the ripples caused by your arrival have brought it about. One change affecting another, and another. How many dominoes have you knocked over?" Halsey wondered.

"I don't know," Jack said. "I was thinking along the same lines earlier,"

"Hmm."

A second later, the door slid open, and familiar form backed into it. He was pulled a hand truck, with a heavy load, it seemed like.

"Hey, Jorge," Jack said.

"Hey, kid," Jorge pulled the hand truck around, and Jack froze. On a mannequin was a suit of MJOLNIR armor.

Barely. It was blackened. The visor was reduced to fingernail-sized shards around the mouth of the helmet. The ceramic plates were cracked and shattered, some missing. The right side of the chest had caved in so thoroughly, it almost looked like the front plating was trying to touch the back. And worst of all: around the joints, running down the front and right side of the vanished visor was the near-black of congealed blood.

_My blood_. _Oh god_. Jack began breathing more quickly.

"Wasn't easy for me, either, mate," Jorge said sympathetically.

"My… old armor," He stopped himself from saying 'my armor'. It wasn't serviceable anymore. It didn't belong to him-it belonged under the ground. With him. So it really had happened.

"Jorge thought you should see," Halsey said quietly.

"Ah," Jack whispered. "Ok,"

"No one would blame you if you wanted to scrap it," Jorge said. "I did. Got a new suit,"

"No," Jack said after a moment. "You fixed me. With that fabricator, you can fix it, too,"

"Very well," Dr. Halsey said. "Any changes?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll let you think about it. If you want any modifications, let me know."

"Ok," Jack sighed.

* * *

><p>"I told you to stop moping," Owen growled as he entered the room, several hours later.<p>

"Yeah. You did," Jack gave him that. Then kept moping.

Jack hissed in pain as he caught the mop handle en route to his head. But it was worth it. It felt like being dragged through hot coals as he wrenched it from Owen's grasp and bent over, snapping it over his knee. He threw the pieces on the ground.

"You're paying for that, I'll have you know," Owen said.

"Whatever." It had hurt, breaking it. That was plenty payment.

"Didn't I tell you to stop moping?"

"Don't I have the right to mope just a little?" Jack said through gritted teeth. "I _died_,"

"Don't be stupid. That's more reason to get up and get moving-you're _alive_. Despite everything, you're going to walk away. That's some incredible luck, don't you think?" Owen prodded his leg with one end of the mop.

"So walk."

"No thanks. I'm good," Jack said.

"This isn't a choice, kid. If you don't walk, I'm going to have to get rough," Owen said.

Jack snorted.

"I kicked your ass yesterday, didn't I?" Owen grinned. "Now get up,"

Jack grimaced. He was perfectly fine from yesterday. Just his pride was injured. Slowly, defiantly, he pulled his legs sideways, dangling off of the bed. Then he did a slow crunch, pulling on his thighs to force himself up. The effort didn't hurt, exactly, but did leave him breathless.

"Pathetic," Owen grunted. Jack gritted his teeth, and in one smooth motion, stood up.

_That_ hurt.

"You can do better than that," Owen growled. "They made a mistake putting you in the  
>Spartan program . Spartans are made of tougher stuff than that,"<p>

"Fuck you."

"Until you can throw a punch hard enough to kill a mosquito, I'm going to call you Jacqueline. You fine with that, Jacqueline?"

"You son of a bitch," Jack snarled.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Owen grinned, taking a step back.

Jack took an agonizing step forward. Owen laughed.

Jack drew back and punched him in the jaw, just lightly enough to not send ripping pain through his arm. Owen just laughed, barely knocked back a step.

"Come on, Jacqueline. You can do better than that,"

Jack sighed. He couldn't even hurt the old man, who wasn't even rubbing his jaw.

"I think it's fair to start with push-ups," Owen said.

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Get on the floor," Owen tapped his index finger on the tip of his mop.

Jack slowly lowered himself to the ground, wincing every time he overworked a particular muscle. He straightened his legs and set his hands palm-down on the floor.

"No sissy push-ups," Owen said. "Knees off the ground. Give me a set of ten,"

Jack strained, and gritted his teeth in pain, but was surprised to find that he easily lifted himself off of the ground. It hurt even more to lower himself back down, but it seemed that he was stronger than his body had told him. It just took focus to get around the sting. He snapped off another three pushups in quick sequence. His body clenched in agony, which actually made it easier to push himself up. The next two were harder, but that was because Owen had set a foot on his back.

"What in the _hell_?" Jack gasped. Owen laughed and shifted more weight over.

"Goddammit!" Jack slammed back into the floor, wincing.

"You were doing fine until you noticed that I was pushing down," Owen guffawed. "You don't know your own limits. If you listen to that sack of meat you're encased in, you won't get anywhere! So keep going,"

"Guy's trying to kill me," Jack muttered under his breath. Then he strained, and lifted himself back up. More weight pressed against his back, but he held himself up, with effort. He slowly eased back down.

Jack peeked to the side and saw the ball of Owen's foot on the floor, just barely. For balance. The bastard was putting almost all his weight on!

Jack laughed the laugh of a man crazy with don't-give-a-shit, and then launched himself into his eight, ninth, and tenth push-up. Paradoxically, the last was the easiest, and he didn't understand why until he saw Owen on his back, groaning. Jack had bucked him off.

Jack fell back on the floor laughing. Those last ones had felt less like pain and more like… well, _good_. He pulled himself up, ignoring the sensation, and sat back on the bed. Then he chuckled at Owen, who was still trying to pull himself up.

"Little shit," Owen coughed, but it was almost a snicker. Jack slowly got up and walked over, offering the old asshole a hand. He glared at it, before accepting.

"I think we might be getting somewhere," He said gruffly, brushing dust off of his blue janitorial uniform.

"About goddamn time," Jack said with an easy smile. Owen raised a threatening eyebrow.

"What did I say about taking His name in vain?"

"Alright, sorry," Jack said, actually apologetically. "No offense intended,"  
>"Some taken," He grunted, but he was smiling behind the gray whiskers.<p>

* * *

><p>From there, things progressed well. Once Jack was cajoled into working a muscle group into action, it seemed he just needed to give it some care. Once the rust had been scraped from his body, Jack felt almost back to normal. Within a week, he was bench-pressing half of his previous record. He was gaining quickly. And he could feel the changes Dr. Halsey had made while he was asleep.<p>

His chest didn't feel the same… sometimes, when he was bending over, leaning back, or something else, he swore he could almost feel the invincible armor plates rubbing together, frictionless. He was more flexible, and he couldn't pop his back or neck anymore, at all. It seemed like the limits of his neck-turning were no longer defined by the bones, but by the muscles and tissue. His head was on a swivel, and it was a little disconcerting.

Jack was Owen's priority, but as Jack made steady progress, he had to return to maintaining the base. Cleanliness was important, and even Commandant Jorge could make the recruits scrub the floors so many times. It still stunned Jack, knowing how Jorge was personally running the Class II training.

He was lonely. Sheila was still out. Owen, little bastard though he was, had at least been provocative. Dr. Halsey was in often, but mostly to use the office suite built in the room, and had little time for chatting. Jack was confined to the room by necessity; IVs were still providing him with the nutrients his body needed to heal. Cabin fever ate away at his patience.

Eventually, Jack just got up. He pulled out the IVs, bandaged his arms, and put on some boots. Then he left the room.

The world outside was far brighter than he remembered. The base was smaller than he'd imaged in the books-he'd thought the training base of the Spartan-IIs would be more impressive. But there were just a handful of buildings. Jack considered the Mess Hall, but just went for the small pre-fabricated hut with the sign COMMANDANT'S OFFICE on it.

_If Jorge is wearing a tie when I walk in… he dies. Painfully_. Jack thought cheerfully.

He wasn't wearing a tie. Just a white Naval officer's uniform. Doing paperwork at his desk.

"Classy," Jack said.

"Thanks, mate," Jorge chuckled. "Had to become respectable at some point. So you're up, then?"

"Looks like it," Jack grinned.

"Glad to hear it," Jorge said, finishing the paper and filing it.

"Five hundred years and we still use paper," Jack shook his head, grinning.

"Yeah, it bites," Jorge said. "But in the modern age of AIs, hard copies are that much more valuable. Data is so easily deleted with sentient superheroes roaming the digital landscape,"

"If you've acquired a taste for poetry in the last couple years, I may have to kill you."

Jorge laughed, then thought for a moment.

"You're incredibly bored, I'd wager," He said.

"Yup," Jack said.

"Looking for something to do?"

"Definitely," Jack said.

"How about helping teach the kids?" Jorge asked.

"Really?" Jack said, blinking. "I'm not sure how good I'd be,"

"Well, listen for a sec. Hear me out," Jorge said quickly, brightening up. "These are good, solid kids. They'll make fine Spartans, in a couple years. But they're still quite green. This camp is fine but… remember our first time, fighting Covies?"

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Remember the feeling? That gut-wrenching doubt? We weren't prepared for them. We were trained to fight humans. That training works, has for centuries, but it doesn't feel real. We need to train them to fight for real, not for fun or practice,"

"I think I get it," Jack frowned.

"No ya don't," Jorge said. "I'm not explaining it right. They don't see it as real… they think this is some sort of game. They're ten and eleven years old, Jack. This needs to be real, and urgent. Can you help me, there?"

Jack thought for a moment. He did understand… knowing how to fight did not necessarily mean knowing how to kill. Especially not when you're learning how to block punches, and not claws and paws.

"I think I can help. Sure,"


	3. Chapter 3

"The power plant is already significantly larger than the standard Mark V. If you keep the level of armor plating the same of the Mark IV, the armor will be far more cumbersome. The bulk will make it difficult to move quickly," Aidan said, carefully. "I don't see the point of the additional plating. The new shield system-"

"Hear me out," Jack commanded. "I'm not a child. The shields are new and shiny, sure, but you can never have too much protection in a combat situation. Redundancy is important,"

"I'm not a child either, Spartan-035," Aidan said softly. "Redundancy is one thing, but the reduction to your mobility is a serious matter,"

"Really. No s-" Jack stopped himself. "No way. But I have another idea. I saw those new ion thrusters in the newer T-Packs. We used the older, more powerful chemical-reaction versions, because we were too heavy in armor. Has the tech for that gotten better?"

"Yes," Aidan said. "Much better. But I fail to see how-"

"Good. Can you install a few dozen small ion thrusters throughout the armor, on certain parts? And wire the power and control circuits through the thicker plating? That way it won't interfere with the other delicate parts," Jack said.

He really hoped that the much smarter AI wouldn't find any problems with his idea; the armor he was constructing in his minds' eye was too awesome to not become real.

"I… suppose I can," Aidan said distastefully.

"I can control each individual thruster with my-"

"Neural uplink, I know. Writing the necessary software now," Aidan sighed.

"That should handle the mobility issue," Jack said with a grin.

"Of course you know, even with the upgraded, or should I say, _swollen_ fusion pack, the power consumption will be significant. Too much to account for shielding, speed, and MJOLNIR's other necessary functions."

"Then I'll have to be careful, and watch my power level. Sounds easy enough," Jack folded his hands behind his head, relaxing.

"Coordinating the thrusters in timed bursts will increase your mobility," Aidan admitted. "But with the added armor weight, it won't be extremely significant. If you try to fly, you'll only hit the ground a few moments after you would normally,"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack sighed. He guessed it _had_ been a little too good to be true.

"But can I hold off on powering the jump jets to boost my shielding?" Jack wondered.

"You can now," Aidan said. "Anything else?"

"Well… I was thinking of a mounted mini gun on my shoulder. You know, independently run through my neural uplink-"

"Absolutely not," Aidan said strictly. "I am here to repair a suit of UNSC battle armor to your specifications, not fulfill an adolescent fantasy. There is no reason to have a gun built onto the armor when you can carry one just as easily,"

"Ok… what? Could you repeat yourself?" Jack gasped, astonished. "I almost thought I heard you say there was no reason to put a goddamn _mini gun_ on my shoulder. Which is ridiculous. Right?"

"You're being very childlike, for someone who is not a child," Aidan said snippily. "I'm not doing it. Anything else? Preferably something less idiotic?"

"Well… Paint it black. Except for some parts. I want the plates from the elbows to the hands painted gold. And from the knees to the boots. And an eight-inch-wide diagonal stripe across the front, stretching around the back," Jack said.

"Very well," For someone with no physical mouth, Aidan did a good impression of someone growling through clenched teeth.

"Thanks. I mean it," Jack said. Aidan grunted, his avatar disappearing.

"Good idea, with the thrusters," Dr. Halsey said, entering the room. "You can balance speed and resilience to the needs of individual situations,"

"Sometimes an imaginative job is best done by a fourteen-year-old," Jack chuckled. "What's up?"

"Well, I'm very busy with work. But I thought I'd pop in and tell you something you might think interesting," Halsey smiled.

"Is it the thing?" Jack sat up, pleased at the minimal pain of the action. "That thing that you wouldn't tell me?"

"No," Halsey said. "You've made great progress with Owen, but not quite enough. It'll be a bit of a shock,"

"That does not help at all!" Jack implored, holding his arms out like a beggar. "Come on!"

"I think it's one of those surprises you appreciate more, the longer you wait," She said wickedly.

"You're evil," Jack sighed.

"Perhaps a little," Dr. Halsey said, sobering up a little.

"So, what _do_ you want to tell me?" Jack asked.

"Well, remember Irou 'Hirantmee and Kitik?" She said. "Well, they remember you. I messaged them, once you awoke. They've been meaning to talk to you,"

Jack was completely thrown. His Covenant friends were here, in the future?

"What?"

"They've given us mountains of intel on the social structure of the Covenant… they are now our honored guests. Prisoners, essentially, but well cared for and comfortable prisoners. Major 'Hirantmee broadcasts an anti-Covenant bulletin every month or so, which ONI seeds into their communications networks. He's known as the Great Heretic," Halsey smiled. "Eventually, if the opportunity presents itself, we hope to use Irou as an ambassador for peace talks. But that's unlikely to happen,"

"Like the Covenant would consider slowing down," Jack snorted, shaking his head. He was still trying to process this.

"I don't think our own leaders would be willing to try for peace, either, actually," Dr. Halsey frowned. "Too many worlds have been glassed. They want revenge, no matter the cost. There are civilian elements calling for us to push the offensive, ridiculous as that sounds,"

"That doesn't sound ridiculous," Jack said. "If we could find their home planets or colonies, I think a counterattack would be fine. Think of the PR the UNSC would get for it,"

"We don't have the ships or crews to properly defend any of our worlds, let alone go attack one of theirs," Dr. Halsey frowned.

"A single nuke on a Covenant city could cause some serious damage," Jack wondered. "I mean, how many nukes do we waste on individual Covie ships? A ground blast is what a nuclear explosion is good for,"

"I'm not in favor of escalating this war," Dr. Halsey said warily. "And you shouldn't be, either. We might not have the Covenant's full attention,"

"I'm just saying. We could bloody their nose," Jack said. Halsey shook her head.

"So how am I talking to them?" Jack asked.

"Feel like getting up?"

"Sure," Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He grinned-it was more like pins and needles than knives and hammers.

"It's just over here," Dr. Halsey led him to her desk, where she opened a program. In a small box, Jack could see his own face; broad, harsh features with pale skin. In a smaller box, Jack saw the saurian face and four toothed mandibles of a Sangheili.

"Ah, hello, my friend," Irou bowed his head in respect.

"Hello, Irou. Been a while," Jack smiled.

"It has. Are you well?"

"As well as I've been for a long time," Jack snickered. "How about you?"

"Much has changed since we last spoke," Irou cocked his head and clicked his lower mandibles. "Some things for the better, some for the worse. Your people disgust and fascinate me,"

Jack laughed. "I know exactly what you mean. Is ONI treating you right?"

"They keep a close watch on me, but act like they don't. They seem to forget that my senses are sharper than theirs; I can smell it when an intruder has inspected my things. I can see the spies attempting to surreptitiously follow me. I can hear their labored breathing," Irou sighed. Jack wondered if that was a Sangheili expression, or something he picked up from his guards.

"It is not easy. But I have things far better than most of my kind. I'm out from under the Prophets' heel. I know the truth. I can spar or train whenever I wish, with blank rounds, of course; my mastery of human weaponry is almost parallel to yours, I daresay. My jailors don't seem to know if they trust me or not."

"Logically, I think they know they should trust you," Jack said, scratching his neck. "But emotionally? Too many of my kind have been killed by your kind,"

"I know," Irou's voice was heavy with shame. "Another crime of the Prophets; using us as a bludgeon against a guiltless race,"

"We'll get back at them," Jack said confidently.

"Yes. We will," Irou growled, then clasped his claws together, like he'd made a decision.

"Doctor Halsey made me swear not to tell… disruptive to your recovery, she said. I shall not tell you. But I feel I must ask… if the opportunity arises, would you allow me a small measure of penance?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked cautiously.

"If I was able, would you let me fight by your side, against the betrayers?" Irou asked solemnly.

"I doubt the opportunity would come up," Jack said.

"Nevertheless."

"Of course," Jack said after a second of thinking. "You might not be a Spartan, but you're a close match in terms of strength and speed. And your stealth skills might be useful… but I doubt it'll happen,"

"We will see," Irou grinned broadly, four lines of fangs winking on the computer screen.

_Guy knows something I don't_. Jack thought.

"Let me talk to him!" A familiar squeak said from Irou's end.

"Kitik? Are you there?"

"Do you wish to speak to him?" Irou asked.

"Yeah!" Jack said.

"Very well," Irou stood up and sauntered away from the camera. Kitik jumped on the chair.

"Hi!" The Unggoy enthused.

"How's it going, Kitik?" Jack grinned.

"Not bad. Not bad," Kitik said, sounding very human.

"What's new and exciting in your world?" Jack leaned back and relaxed.

"Many things!" Kitik clapped his hand-things. "You've been asleep for _so long_!"

"Yeah, I know," Jack chuckled.

"They taught me _to read_!" Kitik shouted.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Reading! The nice people taught me. It took a while, but I'm so good at it!" Kitik jumped off the chair, scampered off, and ran back with an object in his hand. "Mystery books!"

Jack squinted, and saw a pixilated book in Kitik's hand. It was small, brown, and worn. There was an old-fashioned magnifying glass and oddly familiar hat on the cover, but he couldn't make out the title.

"Isn't it _amazing_?" Kitik exclaimed, bouncing on the chair.

"Hell yeah, it is," Jack said. "Better than the stuff in the Covenant?"

"There was nothing like this there," The Grunt said, shaking his head forcefully. "In this one, there is this diamond thief, who is sort of a mate for the good guy, who chases her everywhere! But he doesn't know if he cares about her enough to let her go! She leaves him clues, trying to get him away from-"

"Unggoy are not permitted to read or write," Irou said, pushing Kitik's chair away. He set a new one down, and sat.

"Ah, come on!" Kitik complained.

"That's… not right," Jack said.

"Yes. Before, I would have agreed with the justifications of the Prophets; it was said that knowledge is dangerous in certain hands," Irou said gravely. "But I have been reading some of your people's works, as well. I don't think that there is such a thing as dangerous knowledge for a free people. Only tyrants need ignorance to rule,"

Jack nodded, but didn't really understand.

"Is there any way… I can make it easier for you guys? I mean, it can't be easy being away from all the rest of your kind."

"It… is not easy. I had good friends and enemies on Sanghelios. I miss them. But I am most concerned about my bloodline," Irou said wistfully.

"What do you mean?"

"I've learned somewhat about human relations. You are so different from us… Sangheili never know their fathers; we are raised by our mothers, and their brothers. We earn the right to procreate by amassing honor through combat. There is no special relationship between parents-many never meet again after the coupling."

"So you could have children you don't know?" Jack asked awkwardly.

"I have four children… that I will never know. But the Hierarchs know of them… if the details of my disappearance was ever made clear… if they knew I attacked a Zealot and his followers, my bloodline would be forfeit. All my young would be killed. Perhaps they already have been," Irou was growling like a Warthog, near the end. "I am known as the Great Heretic now, but my identity is carefully disguised. But my initial disappearance…,"

"If they investigate closely enough, they might find out that you weren't killed with the Zealot and the Majors," Jack said. "But the _Commonwealth_ left after the planet fell… they can't know,"

"What if the ship ejected the corpses into space before the slipspace jump? Some of their wounds are from plasma," Irou shook his head. "You can never be too careful with the lives of your young. Once you are a parent, you will understand,"

"How do you know I'm not a parent now?" Jack asked.

"You are so young. It wasn't apparent in our first meetings, but now, after years among your species, it is very clear," Irou said.

Jack grunted. The last week had made him feel very young, as opposed to all the time before that, when he was a badass super-soldier. Everyone had respected him. Now they told him to watch his language. He resented it.

"If you want to continue this conversation, please feel free to do so. But we must go," Irou said.

"Alright. I'll talk to you guys later," Jack said, and Irou nodded.

**Author's Note: You know, I hadn't really thought about Irou and Kitik's role in this story very hard. I only meant for them to be ancillary characters in Into the Fire. But, since you guys demanded them back, I figured they could use a second chance. And their role, in my outline, actually evolved to be pretty significant, and the story up in my mind seems far more significant. I think you'll like the rest. Please remember to review. **


	4. Chapter 4

"In the end, nothing matters but your training. You, boys and girls, are set to be the best in the business. That means _nothing_ except training. We could give the fancy armor and guns to grunts. We could. But at the end of the battle, the results wouldn't be too different. The difference made is in your training. _That_ is what makes Spartans," Jack hollered, taking out his pistol. "When it comes down it, someone is going to die. It is these moments that decide who it is,"

He whipped up the pistol and fired just over a trainee's head, who visibly flinched.

"Bullets whizzing over your head is something you'll have to get used to. What's your name, trainee?" Jack asked. He was impressed that the kid hadn't hit the floor, but hid it well.

"Sir! This recruit's name is Bryan, sir!" Jack could tell the signs-dilated pupils, shaking hands. Adrenaline was flooding the young buck's system.

"I'm sure you're used to that feeling. Aren't you?" Jack asked. "Feeling like you could kick a Brute's ass. Thunder in your veins, and fire in your chest. Aren't you used to it? Doesn't it feel _good_?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Bryan yelled.

"And therein is the problem," Jack frowned, then sent a round whizzing past the kid's ear. The pistol's report echoed in the camp

"This isn't supposed to be fun," Jack deadpanned. "This is life and death. If you start to think that it's a game, then you're dead,"

"Y-yes, sir," He said.

"I'm only going to be here for a little while, at my friend the Lieutenant's request," Jack yelled out to all of them. "I'm here to address one of his concerns. The LT is concerned. He thinks that there is the raw material for some fine Spartans in these two platoons. Except that you all seem to consider this a game. I'm here to make it real,"

He had to hand it to them; they didn't seem rattled at all by the prospect. Maybe they didn't know what he had in mind.

"Do you want to be Spartans?" Jack roared.

"Sir, yes sir!" They screamed back.

"Funding is hard to find, these days. High Command is considering dissolving Class Two," Jack lied carefully. _That_ caused a ripple in their ranks. "They're undecided. If the Lieutenant, me, and Dr. Halsey fight it, you'll probably get to graduate. But you've got to convince us. _Can you convince us_?"

"_Sir, yes sir_!"

"That's what I like to hear. But words don't really prove anything," Jack said, cracking his neck. "You've got five minutes to wrestle me to the ground. All of you, working together. Anything goes. If I tap out in time, you get to graduate. If not… we'll see,"

The recruits were blinking in confusion, but otherwise seemed perfectly poised. They were all between ten and thirteen years old, and Jack was a stocky, heavily muscled, seven-foot-tall Spartan.

"Now four minutes and fifty-six seconds," He said. "Bring it! _Spartans_ were made of stronger stuff in my day!"

That got them going.

"Are you going to deny a direct order?" One of the older boys barked to his fellows.

"Sir, no sir!" They yelled back at him, and then turned their collective, steely gaze on Jack. Then they charged.

Laughing, Jack leapt back from the grasping hands. Then he jumped up and over a half-dozen of them, landing right in the middle of the mob of kids. Gently, but not _too_ gently, he picked one of them up by his fatigues and threw him into four of the others. His other hand grabbed a recruit's upper arm, swinging him like a sack of pissed-off potatoes.

Spartan recruits tackled him from all directions. Jack's grin and good mood went out the door in a second as they began to bite and claw at him. Two of them climbed up his back, and Jack shook himself like a dog, throwing them around.

He couldn't _really_ hurt them. Broken bones would get Owen, Halsey, and Jorge upset. So he couldn't use his mostly-recovered strength. But he nearly lost it when a sharp little elbow hit him in the kidney. One recruit powerfully kicked out at the back of Jack's knee, and he had to fight to stay upright.

Two more used the opportunity to launch themselves at Jack's chest, and the Spartan lost his balance. Another two tackles, and Jack hit the dirt.

Jack was getting punched and kicked from all sides. His hands were at his face-one of them was trying to claw his eyes out.

_Little bastards like to fight dirty_. Jack thought. Maybe they did take this seriously.

One hand grabbed the shirt of the eye-clawer, and another grabbed a foot pounding his shoulder. Jack rose up, swinging the recruits, batting the others away, a little harder than necessary.

Once he had a little breathing room, Jack allowed himself a breath. Then he tossed them away, into clusters of recruits. The recruits glanced at each other. Jack got the impression that some unknown communication was being had.

Three of the older, bigger ones charged from the front. Jack got into an old football pose-spread stance, elbows resting on bent knees.

His augmented hearing was better than any normal human's. Amid seventy panting kids, and the thudding of the three large ones coming at him, he heard lighter footsteps from behind. _Not bad_, he thought.

Jack pretended not to hear. The point was to lose, although he had to sell it. He did what they didn't expect. He charged the three big ones. He laughed as their expressions changed from determined to terrified. But, to their credit, they didn't slow down. Jack avoided doing anything malicious, like hitting their solar plexus's or throats. But he _did_ tackle them, hard. They went down instantly, and Jack had to do some fancy footwork to avoid stepping on them as he passed.

But this game was getting old, and the five minutes were almost up.

He stopped, and pretended not to hear the light steps behind him. Two girl recruits jumped high, clinging to each shoulder. Jack tried his best to act surprised. He actually was surprised when two more recruits tackled the backs of his knees. No wussy kicks, this time-they learned to put all their weight behind the attacks.

Jack fell down, and the mob surged around him again, kicking, punching, scratching, biting. A few had found rocks, and were intent on bashing Jack's head in. It actually hurt.

Jack let himself struggle for a moment, then tapped the ground. The mob stopped, and slowly backed away. Jack chuckled to himself, then got up. His forehead was bleeding from no less than six spots. Little bastards.

"Well… I'm convinced," He announced. The mob cheered. He snapped them a salute, and they responded.

"I get the feeling that you'll all be fine Spartans," He said warmly. But I've kept you from class for too long. Give Aidan my regards. Dismissed,"

"Yes, sir!" They said, and left.

Jorge ambled over from behind a building.

"Where you watching?" Jack asked.

"Perhaps," Jorge chuckled. "I think I've done a fine job with them,"

"You really outdid yourself, Jorge," Jack said. "Those are some brutal little guys,"

"Yeah… Something's come up. I was going to review the footage, but I figured, might as well tell you in person," Jorge grinned broadly.

"What?" Jack asked.

"She's waking up,"

Jack froze up for exactly a tenth of a second.

"Let's go,"

They ran towards the Hospital Building, a one-room shack that seemed more in line with the standard twenty-first century elementary school than anything else. Jack had been interred in Dr. Halsey's quarters, to make his complex and delicate series of surgeries easier. Sheila, once patched up, had stayed in cryo. Dr. Halsey figured to wake them close together, chronologically.

Jack was breathing hard, but not at all due to his hard running. It felt like remembering to be hungry at the dinner table, or that you were, in fact, tired when you got in bed-he _did_ need this. Everything else had just been distraction and diversions.

Jack only slightly slowed down once he reached the building. If the door had said 'pull' instead of 'push', it wouldn't have significantly slowed him down. He would have torn the door off it's hinges. As it was, the glass cracked and splintered as the door smacked the inside wall.

Dr. Halsey was there, but Jack only saw the cryo tube, filling the room. His eyes fought to penetrate the fogged-up glass, but could only barely recognize a human shape inside.

"How long?" He barked.

"Three or four minutes," Halsey said.

"Any way to safely speed it up?" Jack asked tersely.

"I've already done everything I could to that effect. Just wait, Jack. Sit down."

Jack did not want to sit down. But he forced himself to plop down on one of the hard brown beds lining the room.

"Glad I'm teaching you _some_ self-control," Owen grunted, trying to carefully close the door behind him. Large shards of glass fell on the floor anyway.

"My apologies, Doctor," Owen said respectfully.

"None needed, Owen," Dr. Halsey said politely. "It wasn't your fault, anyway,"

Owen snorted softly. Dr. Halsey tapped a few buttons on her computer. Small jets of steam issued from the cryotube. Jack found himself standing, to Owen's irritation. The door to the tube slowly opened. Sheila was wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

"Her hair…," Jack murmured.

"Hair grows, whether you're alive, dead, or in cryogenic suspension," Dr. Halsey said. "We cut yours before you woke up. Figured it'd be less shocking,"

"Yeah… less…," Jack whispered. Sheila's midnight hair had been so short, but now it reached low, curling slightly on her chest. It was glossy and beautiful, contrasting her pale face in a way that nearly broke Jack's heart.

Sheila's midnight hair had been so short before, but now it reached low, curling slightly on her chest. It was glossy and beautiful, contrasting her pale face in a way that very nearly broke Jack's heart.

Sheila flinched slightly, and took a slow, deep breath. Jack forgot to. Her eyes closed tighter, then cracked open. She squinted.

"Aidan. Lights," Jack sharply murmured. The glow dimmed.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I think you've slept in long enough," Jack said tenderly.

"Mmm… Breakfast in bed… probably too much to hope for, eh?" She croaked, and Jack's knees almost gave out. Her voice was better than he remembered.

"Once we've retired from the UNSC, I'll get ya bacon and eggs every morning," He said. Sheila smiled tiredly.

"Don't forget… pancakes."

"Of course not," Jack murmured.

"Listen, Sheila," Dr. Halsey said. "This may be hard to accept…,"

Jack took Sheila's hand. It was cold, but at the same time blessedly warm.

"You've _really_ been sleeping in," Jack said carefully.

"How… long was I out?"

"Jorge was out for two years. Li, three years. Me and you…,"Jack took a deep breath as Sheila's hand tightened on his. "Five years,"

"Oh my god," Sheila whispered.

"Yeah. Dr. Halsey spent a lot of time patching us up," Jack said.

"Five… years," Sheila narrowed her eyes. "I remember… that bitch, Asef. We chased her down. And then…,"

"There was an explosion," Jack said gently.

"Yeah,"

"We got very lucky," Jorge said, speaking for the first time.

"Don't know how you define 'lucky', but…," Sheila said weakly. "Five years…,"

"The room had upwards of two hundred pounds of explosives. The bomb techs were lazy, though. A little of it went off early, threw us from the path of the big stuff," Jorge said.

"Luck of the… which is the predominant nationality in Gold?" Sheila asked randomly.

"European, closely followed by Asiatic," Halsey said with a chuckle. "Although, technically, Gold Team doesn't exist anymore,"

"_What_?" Sheila snapped. Jack was amazed. Did that really matter more than five vanished years?

"Jorge is Commandant of the Class II Program. Li has been folded into Gray Team. Jack just woke up, two weeks before you did," Dr. Halsey explained. "Actually, I haven't really told anyone beyond this camp that you and Jack pulled through,"

"Really? That's interesting," Jack said.

"Yes. I'm sure it will come in handy,"

"Ok, what does that cryptic turd mean?" Jack asked, and Sheila suppressed a snicker.

"It means, 'do you want to hear the shocking truth or not?'" Owen butted in.

"She's been holding this big 'ol surprise over my head for a while," Jack explained to Sheila. "I'm starting to think she's messing with me,"

Sheila chuckled.

"She's not, actually," Owen said.

"I'm not sure why you're even here, Owen," Jack said, not impolitely, after thinking for a second. "I mean, no offense, but this is a little personal,"

"You'll see," The old man said wistfully.

"Jack, have you ever wondered about Owen's last name?" Dr. Halsey said.

"Well… no," Jack said. He'd never asked, or thought to.

"So? What about it?" Jack asked.

Owen shared a significant glance with Dr. Halsey, who nodded.

"Well, Jack, my full name is John Owen Newman," He said.

"Genetic testing for Class II was everywhere. It was easy to do a search," Dr. Halsey said. "The genetics fit,"

"Ok, I'm sorry, _but what?"_ Jack exclaimed.

"I figured your mom, dear Emily, would have raised you better," Owen grunted, then stared at Jack for a moment. "Kid… I'm your grandfather,"

That didn't make any sense. How the hell could that be?

"But... I," Jack sputtered.

"This will be rather difficult to explain," Dr. Halsey said. "Why don't you take a seat?"


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: If you aren't a fan of **_**Into the Fire**_**, just skip this. I'm sure some of you know that my ultimate goal is to be a professional author. I want to get paid to live the dream, yeah, yeah, bla bla. Until then, I've decided to turn **_**Into the Fire**_** into a semi-real book, for my bookshelf, at the very least. There's this thing with lulu dot com. I design it, pay for production, and ta da! Something that looks kind of professional. Something to go on my bookshelf, with my name on it. Egotistical? Maybe. But I was just wondering… would you guys be interested in the book? I almost definitely can't sell it, for obvious reasons, but maybe we could have a contest or something. Please leave ideas and/or flames at djahns515 at gmail dot com. And send me any cover ideas, if you have them. **

"That's not possible," Jack said flatly. "No way. I mean… sure, you've kinda grown on me, but that doesn't mean…,"

"The DNA results are very conclusive," Dr. Halsey said. "Owen is your father's father,"

"I… but how? I'm not...," Jack glanced at Owen. "You know, from here,"

"I've been told everything," Owen said, shrugging. "I know the theory. Sounds crazy to me, but I'll trust the scientists,"

"Wow," Jack sighed.

"Perhaps you belong here more than you initially thought," Halsey said. "Are you alright? We can continue this later, if you wish,"

"Wait a goddamn second… _that_ wasn't it?" Jack hoarsely muttered, exchanging glances with Sheila.

"Hey, I was out cold until recently. I'm probably more lost than you are," She said.

"It's a part of it," Owen said.

"So what's the rest?" Jack asked.

"Are you sure you can handle another surprise?" Dr. Halsey asked.

"You think so little of me," Jack grunted pessimistically.

"When I compared your genetic profile to all others in the UNSC-a recent ability developed for Class II, like I said-Owen was not the only match,"

"What does that mean? I have more family out there?" Jack asked, clasping his hands tightly, on the edge of his seat.

"Well, perhaps _had_ is a better word," Halsey said.

"What does that mean?" Jack asked. The doctor looked at Owen, who sighed.

"My son, Robert, was eighteen when he joined the Marines. He wasn't in there long before he volunteered for the ORION project," He said.

Jack was speechless.

"The program was retroactively renamed a few years later. It's now called the Spartan-I Program," Halsey said.

"I knew that," Jack murmured.

"He'd message me every other day," Owen mumbled. "He was a good kid. Marines made him a good man. He couldn't say much. But he did meet a nice girl, oddly, also in the Program,"

"Emily. My mom," Jack said.

"Exactly. We only met a few times, but I adored that woman. Exactly who my son needed, who he deserved. She was good for him. Met her brother, too… bit of a wild man, but decent,"

"Uncle George," Jack said falteringly.

"That's right," Owen said.

"They were Spartans?" Sheila asked.

"Yes. They formed Gamma Team," Dr. Halsey said.

"Oh my god," Jack took in a shaky breath.

"Surprised me too," Halsey said knowingly, flinching at the look Jack gave her. "Er, although, probably not as much as it did you,"

"I can't believe it," Sheila said.

"Same. Damn… And here I thought that I was just another replacement," Jack said quietly, staring at the floor.

"Don't ever think that," Sheila commanded. "You're as much a Spartan as me. Hell, maybe even more so! You're the only one of us who had Spartans for parents,"

"Not for very long. They vanished when I was a kid, remember?" Jack said.

"Well. Jack, how much more do you think you're prepared to hear?" Dr. Halsey asked.

"There's _more_?" Jack shouted.

"Not much more," Owen chuckled.

"That's good. I'm like three inches away from going insane," Jack rubbed his temples, trying to understand how much of his life, his memories, would need to be re-arranged. Uncle George was a Spartan! Everything was different, now.

"In 2505, Gamma Team was investigating something," Dr. Halsey said slowly. "An anomaly far beyond the edge of UNSC space. A colony ship disappeared, then the platoon of ODSTs looking for it. Gamma Team was sent in covertly. Then… they vanished,"

"Vanished?"

"Yes. The data on their mission was surprisingly well classified. Significantly above my own clearance, actually. We know nothing about the anomaly. UNSC and civilian craft were barred from the area. It was a comfortable unknown, far away from everyone's minds, when the Covenant began the war,"

"So what is it?" Jack asked.

"We don't know," Halsey said.

"So. How do we get there?" Sheila asked, surprising Jack.

"That would be a valid question, except for that 'we'. I'm going, alone. You need to rest. Get some physical therapy. Trust me, it's good stuff."

"Ok, that's bullshit," Sheila said, trying to sit up and falling back, wincing. "Once I'm up and running, we'll go together. Jorge too, if he can,"

"I don't think so," The Commandant kindly rumbled. "I'd love to go for another adventure with you, but I've got responsibilities, here. The UNSC is going to depend on these kids, soon. I need to make sure they're rock-solid,"

"Ah, that bites. It seems like just yesterday that we were kicking ass," Sheila sighed.

"For you? Yes," Jorge said. "But this has been my home for a long time, now. I haven't fired a gun in anger in years. It's… peaceful,"

"Sometimes I think myself a criminal for forcing violence on someone as compassionate as you, Jorge," Dr. Halsey said.

"Duty is duty, ma'am," He kindly replied. "No hard feelings,"

"So we aren't getting the band back together," Sheila sighed. "Ah, well. How are we going to get there?"

"I don't remember saying I'd let you come," Jack said.

"Just try and stop me," Sheila said smugly.

"Ok," Jack pressed his index finger on Sheila's forehead. Sheila instinctively flexed dozens of muscles in her back and neck-all of them hurt. She relaxed, clenching her teeth.

"Helpless as a kitten," Jack remarked. He removed his finger and kissed her cheek. Sheila growled.

"I didn't like it, either. But it gets better,"

"I. Am going. With you," Sheila fiercely whispered.

"You should sleep on it. Both of you," Owen said. "There's a lot going on. I know _I_ could use a little damn time to think,"

"It's like, noon!" Jack protested.

"I don't want you two talking about this again until tomorrow morning. You both know there's plenty to catch up on. Or just make googly eyes at each other until sunrise," Owen coughed out a laugh, then headed for the door.

"Whatever you say… Grandpa," Jack muttered conspiratorially. Owen stopped.

"I know you meant that as a little jab at my pride," He said thoughtfully. "But dammit if I don't like the sound of it. I'll see you later… grandson,"

Jack laughed in chagrin as Owen left. Then he took Sheila's hand.

"I'm so glad you're ok," He said feverishly. "I can't believe I led us right into a trap! I mean, how stupid was I, thinking that-"

"Shut up. This instant," Sheila snapped.

"I… what?"

"You made good tactical decisions. Of course it seems obvious that it was a trap, now… hindsight is 20/20. But what else could have been done?" She asked urgently. "Should they have sent in a couple hundred ODSTs? Have their wimpy asses blown up? And we're alright! We turned out fine,"

"Five _years _gone, Sheila," Jack said.

"Better that than eternity dead," She snorted.

"You are truly impossible to bum out, aren't you?" Jack said, marveling at this girl he loved.

"I wouldn't go that far," She said wistfully. "I mean usually, sure, but you find lots of ways to get under my armor,"

"I'm not going to say 'bow chicka bow wow'," Jack said pointedly.

"And that's why I love you," Sheila smiled, and they kissed.

Jack pulled away after a few seconds. It wouldn't be good to have a total emotional burnout. Today was a damn rollercoaster.

"How do I bum out out?" He asked.

"Well… yeah, you know?" Sheila said awkwardly.

"Actually, no, I don't," Jack said, smiling.

"Saying I can't come, and that stuff," She said quietly.

"Why would that bum you out?" Jack asked.

"Well… I want to be there, with you. I want to help find your parents."

"Wait, what?" Jack blinked.

"Why don't you want me there with you?" She asked.

"Because it's dangerous. The way Dr. Halsey said it, it sounds like this century's version of the Bermuda Triangle," He said. "If I vanish, that would suck. But if you vanished, that would suck significantly more,"

"Thanks," Sheila said dryly, and Jack laughed.

"I don't want you to get hurt ever again. Especially not because of my dumb ass. And if you got hurt again, because my dumb ass, I'd never forgive myself."

"Dumbass," She murmured, smiling.

"So you understand, right? I do want you with me. But not if I'm heading into hell," Jack said, shaking his head.

"Once again: you are a dumbass," Sheila assured him. "That's what it's all about! How would things work between us without challenges? How would be grow together without… I don't know. I'm not saying it right,"

Huh. Jack didn't know what to make of that.

"So, you need excitement in a relationship?" He probed.

"Well… maybe. I don't know," Sheila admitted. "But I think it takes challenges to _strengthen_ it. Like working out. No pain, no gain,"

Jack chuckled. Typical response from a dyed-in-the-wool badass. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

"But that doesn't mean we should risk our lives," Jack said.

"We're Spartans! How the hell else are we going to be toughened as a couple? If something isn't trying to kill us, I think we could handle it easily."

_ How about a mortgage? Car, life, health, home Insurance? A financial aid application_? Jack loved Sheila, but wasn't sure about her realism. He suspected that being raised in a military bubble messed with her perspective.

"Well… 'grandpa' said we shouldn't talk about it until tomorrow. And you just woke up! Get some rest, sweetheart," Jack said, standing.

"Wait!" Sheila cried, stopping him in his tracks.

"What is it?" He asked carefully.

"I mean… I wake up, and we're five years in the future. What if things are completely different again when I wake up tomorrow?" She said, obviously scared. "I know, it's ridiculous. But you know?"

"It's not ridiculous," Jack said comfortingly. "Things have changed. But I promise when you wake up, things will still be the way they are,"

"Come here," She quietly commanded. Jack ambled over to the cryotube, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Since the tube was at a forty-five degree angle, Jack was in an awkward position. But he liked it.

This much closer, he could see her better. She looked almost scarily pale. She looked drawn, thin. She was still cold.

"Thanks," She murmured, closing her eyes. "Much better,"

Jack stayed there, his arm falling asleep, at that odd angle, until he was sure she was fast asleep. Then he slowly tugged his arm out, kissed her cheek, and left the room.

"Aidan," He whispered. She was out, but still had Spartan ears.

"Yes?" He said quietly over the intercom.

"Where's Owen?" Jack asked.

"The Mess Hall."

"Thanks," Jack said, then headed there. It still surprised him, how small the training center was. When you thought about how important these Spartans would be in the war, you would naturally expect a massive and extremely well-funded effort. To Jack, it seemed like lightning in a bottle.

The Mess Hall was cavernous and mostly empty. Owen was sweeping the floor with a broad shop broom. Jack would have thought lunch would have just ended, but there wasn't much mess to clean up. A third of the room had been swept, but there was only a softball-sized clump of crumbs and dust.

"Hey," Jack said. Owen glanced up in surprise.

"Hello. Don't usually get visitors on my shift," He said, not unkindly.

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm intruding," Jack said. "But I could give you a hand, if you want,"

Owen smiled. "I appreciate the offer, son. I do. But a good day's work is essentially what keeps me chuggin' along. Keeps me from getting bored, keeling over just for something to do. I've lost friends to Covenant, to disease. But the number one killer of old people is boredom,"

"Well, maybe I could just sit here," Jack said, pretending to understand as he sat at one of the long tables.

"Well, that's good of you," Owen wheezed.

"And I was hoping… you know… that you could tell me more about my parents."

Owen stopped sweeping for a quarter second, then continued.

"I suppose I could," He said warily.

"Alright. Well, what was my dad like?" Jack asked.

"He was…," Owen thought a moment. "Stubborn. Not good stubborn, either. Impractically stubborn. He considered moral ambivalence to be crap. Everything was ether was right or wrong, and if it was supposed to be in the middle, then it was probably wrong. Hated lawyers, my boy did,"

They shared a laugh.

"He considered the manipulation of people for your own gain to be offensive. Hated salesmen, too," Owen chuckled. "He had the highest standards for politicians. Since he turned eighteen, he was voting. But he didn't vote based on issues; he carefully studied the choices. Honesty was the turning point, for him. He'd research the politician's past so thoroughly that any lie would be blazing. The politician that lied the least got his vote,"

"Lied the least?" Jack asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. All of them lied. It was a question of who made an effort to be honest. That mattered to Robert."

"He sounds like a great guy."

"He was. Impractical, though. There are lots of times in life when it benefits you to be dishonest, in life. Robert was a purist; even manipulating the system to get a bigger tax refund was reprehensible to him. You look like him, you know. Got the build. The chin. And the nose," Owen chuckled with ancient sorrow.

"There's a chance he's alive," Jack said.

"I don't think so," Owe shook his head sadly.

"I think there is. If whatever made him disappear is involved in what made me come here… he could be far off, but reachable," Jack said.

"It's wishful thinking," Owen said. "I buried my only son two and a half decades ago,"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Sorry bout the wait. My laptop charger died. I'm still waiting for the replacement to come in the mail! Luckily I was able to temporarily appropriate my sister's charger! Just in time, too. I had to get some writing in; I was going through withdrawal. I like this one, but let me know what you think. P.S: If you're interested in the book form of Into the Fire, let me know. My email is djahns515 at gmail dot com. If few enough people want it, then I'll give them away, free. If not, we'll have a competition. **

"Last time, I have to admit, you impressed me," Jack announced. He was standing on the edge of a cliff, facing a long line of Spartan trainees. They were all in perfect military form. No doubt they were wondering why everyone had been ordered to wear shorts. The hot sun was pummeling them all.

"We're not in danger of losing funding. You're all safe, in that regard."

They didn't relax an iota. Good.

"My time here is very limited. I can't do much for you; the Lieutenant has done a fine job. You're as thoroughly trained as two thousand years of military science can achieve. I know my old friend is proud. You should be, too," Jack said. They didn't move at all. It was almost eerie. But Jack thought several of them were fighting back smiles.

"But there is one lesson that hasn't already been given to you. Something that's not exactly part of the curriculum. Any guesses?" Jack asked, only allowing himself a cruel grin. A second passed in silence. One Spartan stepped forward.

"Sir! Advanced Covenant weaponry training!"

"Not even close," Jack said. "But a good guess, nevertheless,"

"Sir!" Another trainee stepped up, as the first fell back in line. "Advanced Covenant linguistics?"

"Again nice, but no cigar. Anyone else want to try? No? Very well. I'm going to try to teach you how to temporarily forget the Covenant."

That got a response. A small ripple of confusion swept over the trainees. They were trying to understand. And failing. Jack chuckled.

"This war has ended billions of lives. It's defined mine in a very real way, and it'll do the same to you. That's good. It's incredibly important. But a little escape isn't something to be ashamed of. Five minutes of rest can make any long job easier. Follow me!"

Jack tipped backwards over the edge of the cliff. Bending his knees, he launched out with Spartan power. He curled into a ball, and hit the lazy stream below closer to the opposite bank than the near one. The cannonball sent a geyser up, some of it even reaching the top of the cliff, twenty feet up.

Jack emerged laughing, wiping the slightly salty water of Reach from his eyes. He looked up to see seventy shocked recruits lining the cliff's edge.

"Maybe I wasn't clear!" Jack bellowed heartily. "That was an _order_!"

They jostled each other, still a little confused. Jack growled with impatience.

"Jump in!"

A few seconds later, one of them did. It was Bryan, the twelve-year-old who Jack had scared a couple days ago. He hit the water with a much less impressive splash.

"That's how you do it!" Jack crowed, and a few of the laughed cautiously. A few more jumped in, and at Jack's urging, the rest of them made the plunge.

Jack was chuckling when they all swam back up, laughing for a few seconds. Then, disturbingly, they were all staring at Jack. Were they actually waiting for orders?

"I talked to the Halsey and Aidan. You've got the afternoon off. Have some fun!" Jack laughed, and it was like he'd opened Pandora's box. In seconds the kids were all splashing and dunking each other. A few headed out and back up the cliff, to jump again. With a few quick strokes, Jack found himself at the sandy red beach opposite the shale cliff, where Sheila was resting under a huge umbrella.

"Hey, there," Jack grinned, laying down on the towel next to her. "Man, I _needed_ that. It's been a while,"

"Same," Sheila said. "A little sun will do me some good,"

"I don't know. I like you a little pale," Jack said, smiling.

"Really? Why?" She mused.

"I don't really know. Huh. But when it comes down to those bleached blonde girl versus the pale brunette, I go for the latter. Just cuter, to me," Jack shrugged.

"Weird," She murmured warmly. She was tired, after the physical exertion of being carried here. Jack chuckled to himself.

There was no other feeling like getting doused in real water. Without chlorine, water that you can't really see through. Jack enjoyed the sensation. He kicked back and relaxed, letting the sun's warmth dry him. The Spartan trainees were fine-every one of them knew how to swim like a pro, and even how to perform CPR. They were their own lifeguards. Even the cliffs weren't that dangerous. Jack and his old idiot friends had done it plenty without getting hurt, and clumsy Carter was a far cry from the elite soldiers going for a dip now.

Jack just sat there and breathed for a few minutes, enjoying the simple action of not moving. Unbidden, an old Jimmy Buffet song came to mind. He wondered what a margarita tasted like.

"Ok, honey, it's time for your physical therapy," Jack said, finally.

"Mm?"

"A day on the beach is fine. But we've got to get you in fighting shape if you're going to be coming with me."

"What?" Sheila blurted, decidedly more awake.

"I'm fine with you coming," Jack said.

"Awesome!" She said, working at sitting up.

"I thought about it. And you had a point; we're together, we're supposed to do these things together. If the circumstances were reversed, I'd fight tooth and nail to come along. And if we do find my parents… Jesus, I'd really like you to meet them," Jack said. "But I'm still concerned, of course. My armor will be patched up in a couple weeks, and you'll get an early Mark V at the same time. If you aren't good by then, you can't come. It'd be easier on my conscience,"

"Alright," Sheila grinned. "That sounds fair,"

She held out a hand, and Jack pulled her up. Her face was impassive, but Jack saw a muscle clenched in her jaw. This hurt her. Well, he wasn't all that convinced that she should put herself in danger. If she really wanted it, she'd have to go a hundred percent, and it would hurt. Still. He didn't like her being in any kind of pain.

"How about a swim?" He asked.

She looked uneasily at the seventy kids splashing around.

"We can go a few feet downstream," Jack said reassuringly. He led her, step by slow step, down the beach. One they were clear of the kids, Jack slowly led Sheila in the water.

* * *

><p>Jack took a seat in the Armory. Arrayed on the table was a collection of dozens of weapons. Most were old and familiar. Others, not so much. Sheila was with Owen, the resident physical therapist, Jorge was doing paperwork, and Dr. Halsey was working on things that were vastly over everyone else's head. Jack was bored. But there was a mission coming up, one that might require a little foreknowledge of new UNSC armaments.<p>

"Well, that's one of everything. I don't really know what you know," The Master at Arms, Gunnery Sergeant Draimon, grunted. "You could sort it. So I know what to brief you on,"

Draimon had plenty of other duties, so Jack understood his bristling. He quickly organized the guns. Four varieties of pistols, three kinds of assault rifles, and four shotguns were set aside. There were five left. An M6 pistol that looked normal, except for a thick cylinder on the barrel; an oversized, ugly-as-sin assault rifle; something that resembled a double-barreled AA-12 shotgun. There was a stout little SMG-shaped rifle with a massive banana magazine-it gave Jack an absurd feeling of déjà vu. And something he hadn't seen anything like. It had a foot-long pipe-like opening, the inside lined with what looked like foam padding. That was attached to a blocky thing that looked only vaguely like a gun.

"This," Draimon said, gesturing with the pistol, "Is a prototype. Doesn't have a name, yet. Each of these charges has a punch that can take down a Wraith. Linked up with an ODST or Spartan neural uplink, for timed, conditioned, or remote detonation. Shoot something, it'll stick, and you can control when and how it blows up. Pretty handy,"

"What's this?" Jack held up the rifle. The Master at Arms chuckled.

"Gold Team was the first Spartan squad to use oversized guns, but it certainly wasn't the last. They became so popular among the Spartans that ONI designed a line of weapons with elephant-killing in mind. That's the MA5-Special Operations, or MA5SO. Still puts out a solid fifteen rounds a second, but with nearly twice as heavy a round. Five to ten bullets per Elite."

Jack whistled appreciatively. "Got a good kick?"

"Hell yeah," Draimon growled fiercely, grinning like a wolf. "You gotta understand: On full-auto, some marines find even the regular MA5B impossible to control. I tried this monster on single-shot, and I couldn't hit jack shit. My shoulder still hurts, too. Have fun with that bad boy,"

"Oh, I will," Jack laughed as he gingerly set the monster rifle down. He picked up the odd shotgun.

"That right there is the automatic shotgun equivalent. It alternates barrels, when firing; partly because they tend to overheat and warp, and partly because the clips weren't big enough."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

"I mean that it pumps out three ten-gauge shells a second. Those are huge shells, son. A thirty-round clip would be far too long. So ONI did a simple fix: Two separate actions, barrels, and magazines. The clips, like the shotgun, are built into one, so it's not like you need to reload twice for every five minutes in a firefight."

He held up a clip. It was huge, but didn't look like someone had just glued two clips together. They were built into each other, seamless.

Jack gestured at the compact rifle. "You know, this looks kina familiar,"

"That's because you came up with the prototype," Draimon grinned. "Essentially a short-barrel, x2 scope sniper rifle. Semi-automatic. .45 caliber. ONI started pumping these out when ships with Spartans began to run low on sniper rifles and their ammunition. They were all getting repurposed, you see,"

"Damn. I never patented it," Jack laughed, and so did the gunny.

"Officially, it's called the Heavy Marksman Rifle. The HMR Model 1. You turned six hundred years of military tradition on its head, kid."

"Ok. Consider me flattered. Also, impressed," Jack said.

"Save that for when I'm done explaining this thing," Draimon hefted the massive weapon of indeterminate origin.

"Alright. I'll bite. What is it?"

"Whatever you want it to be," Draimon grinned wickedly.

"That tells me… very little," Jack said.

"It's designed solely for Spartan use. I mean, the other stuff, that's designed with the typical gun-user in mind, albeit for the larger gun-user. This is just for people with the advanced neural uplink of the Spartans. When you stick your hand in here-" He pointed to the huge holed cylinder. "The gel-foam-whatever swells up, surrounding your gauntlet up to the elbow. Then it gets hard-a tight fit. Then it syncs up with your targeting system. UNSC hardware is designed, usually, along centuries-old lines. But the Spartans are strong and dexterous enough that they don't need a two-handed grip to aim properly. There's software in the Mark V MJOLNIR that'll allow the simultaneous use of two separate weapons. Like these."

"Nice," Jack wondered how long it would take to get used to a whole new way of fighting. Well, not that new. He'd dual-wielded before-just without computer aid, and definitely with more familiar weapons.

"What did you mean, it could be whatever I want it to be?"

"I mean, this gun assembles and loads its munitions in accordance to your whims. It's got six hundred bullets. No explosives or brass cases-just the part that hits the bad guys. It's got a chamber where the bullet is slotted in. The desired level of propellant is injected behind it, deciding the damage and recoil. This could be a virtual cannon, or a BB gun. The recoil increases the more propellant you add, remember. I almost forgot. The bullets are bowl-shaped. They stack-that means you can have three or four of the rounds per shot. Here's the best part: When you decide the amount of lead and propellant to use, you can also decide the speed. Fastest rounds-per-second is eighteen-point-three, so far. With a regular amount of propellant per shot. This is, of course, a work in progress by ONI," Draimon grunted as he hefted the rifle, which had to weigh at least eighty pounds.

"I can't even imagine using that thing," Jack said, suitably impressed. "I'll have to try it out before I leave,"

"Damn, I wish I could, too," Gunnery Sergeant Draimon sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: It's... alive! I finished the book version. Once the first one ships to me, and I make sure there aren't any obvious mistakes, I'll get the ball rolling on the other one. So! Here's your contest: Character creation. Whoever gives me the most compelling character not only gets a free copy of _Into the Fire_, but I'll also try to fit that character in _this_ story. Send me your bios! No less than a hundred words, plz. I'm anticipating a lot of love for this chapter. Don't forget to review!**

The days flew by, far too fast. Jack spent hours working with all of the weapons available to him, old and new. Except for the hand-cannon, of course, which taunted him whenever he saw it. He sat down with Owen often, gently prodding him into talking.

The old man told him stories about his childhood, his years at one of Reach's many titanium mines, and about his parents. Sometimes, hearing about how his father did this or that, Jack found himself feeling a variety of déjà vu. He often felt like he'd have done the same things, in those circumstances. Owen knew little about Jack's mother, but Jack surmised that he'd gotten his sense of humor from that side of the family.

Owen wasn't as able to talk as much as Jack would have liked; between his curious grandson, Sheila's physical therapy, and his ordinary janitorial work, he was fairly busy. That was on top of the old man's philosophy of leaving the past in the past. Sometimes he'd snap at Jack's questions.

"Boy, I don't know if Emily liked Mexican food! Give me a little peace!"

Jack was a little annoyed. All he wanted to know was if his mom had shared his flimsy constitution when it came to spicy food. He barely stopped himself from asking if Owen knew her opinion on Indian chow.

Sheila was nearly as busy. Owen kept her flexing and stretching, using almost the exact same tactics on her as he had on Jack. Her physical therapy wasn't easy, but she dove into it with gusto. It made Jack all fuzzy inside, how much pain she voluntarily undertook so she could risk her life with him. It also made him quiet and reflective; he was considering rescinding his offer. But she wouldn't even let him think those thoughts. She saw it in his body language, which he'd always been terrible about controlling, and alternated between whacking him on the head and kissing him on the cheek.

"It'll be safe," Sheila kept repeating. "If things get too dangerous, we can back off,"

She said it until it was all Jack could hear when he went to bed.

All in all, despite his frustration with Owen's reluctance and Sheila's confidence, it was one of the most peaceful times of his life. He had a private room with Sheila-they curled up next to each other every night. Despite Owen's grunted assertions, Jack had matured; he wasn't fourteen anymore. The troubles and problems of his youth in the twenty-first century seemed so negligible, in retrospect. They looked completely meaningless. There were real problems, now: the war with the Covenant, the search for his family. With so much to worry about, holding the one you loved was a supreme bliss.

"I don't want this to ever end," She murmured to the dark.

"I don't, either," Jack sighed happily, then frowned.

"What is it?" Sheila asked.

"Nothing… how'd you know what I was thinking?" He muttered. With her back pressed against him, she couldn't see his expression.

"You have to learn to scowl with just your mouth, and not everything else," She chuckled.

"Thanks for the tip," He mumbled.

"What is it?"

"What's what?" Jack asked, the picture of innocence.

"I'm not stupid. Come on. What's on your mind?"

"Just thinking," He said lightly.

"About what?" Sheila growled.

"Asef. You know. Whether we should have taken her up on her offer," Jack sighed. "Nothing major,"

"Jack… you know we did the right thing," Sheila said, softly.

"For everyone else? Yeah. It was right. But was it right for us?"

Sheila didn't have an answer.

"This thing," Jack gestured to their cuddling with both hands, "I love it. I don't want it to stop,"

"I don't either," She said, rather needlessly.

"We leave tomorrow," Jack deadpanned.

"On Halsey's ship. We don't need to be crammed into tiny beds with forty other people, anymore," It was true. Halsey's sort-of-borrowed-but-mostly-appropriated sub-prowler didn't have the _Commonwealth's_ old, cramped crew quarters. But that wasn't really the point.

"We should get a little peace. We've earned it," Jack sighed.

"We'll get it eventually," Sheila said.

"Sure. But how soon is eventually? I mean, before I messed with everything, the Human-Covenant War was supposed to last thirty years. How much longer will it be? Twenty years? Ten? Is a decade of solid warfare the best we can hope for?"

Sheila was silent for a long time.

"You know I don't have any answers. None that you want to hear," She murmured.

"None that you want to say," Jack sighed.

"I'm sorry," She whispered.

* * *

><p>When Jack and Sheila stepped into the room, the air was sucked out of his lungs, and his eyes widened. It felt like stepping back in time.<p>

Jack had been part of the Halo universe for months, and that was if you didn't count time in cryo and under Halsey's knife. Almost everywhere, he saw Halo, from the angular, steel architecture to the Warthogs. But nothing said _Halo,_ in his mind, more powerfully than the seven-foot-tall suit of MJOLNIR battle armor in front of him. It looked like it had been taken from Halo: Reach's Matchmaking, almost flawlessly. The only differences he could tell were the paint job, dozens of tiny glowing energy emitters, and the armor's perfection; in Reach, the armor is scuffed up, giving the appearance of wear-and-tear. But this armor set was beautiful.

"Do you like it?" Dr. Halsey asked happily.

"You better," Aidan chirped. Sheila snorted.

As he'd requested, it was black and gold, with a diagonal stripe running down the chestplate. Which was almost exactly like Collar/Breacher chestplate. The only difference he could tell was the lack of a knife.

The gold paint scintillated, only outshown by the pure gold visor. The helmet was the JFO variant-the broad T-shaped visor dominated the front.

Slighter more lightly shaded with gold were the Commando shoulder pauldrons. They were thick plates that would provide excellent protection.

Jack's eyes were drawn to the winking energy emitters. They weren't unlike the suit's shield emitters, just more numerous and small. They glowed cool blue.

"The thrusters you requested," Aidan said.

"Excellent. Thank you, Aidan," Jack enthused.

"Doctor, exactly how many prototypes did you bust out to make this?" Sheila half laughed.

"MJOLNIR has dozens of onboard systems and operations. Those are improved and replaced, in the blueprints on the Mark V," Halsey mused. "Because this suit was rebuilt almost entirely from scrap, with on-hand materials, at one of the only three locations with Project MJOLNIR's complete engineering data, it was a simple matter to use the more modern protocols and systems. Much less simple than using untested armor prototypes,"

"I didn't understand much of that," Jack admitted with a grin.

"It was relatively cheap and very easy," Aidan summarized with a sigh.

"Thanks," Jack snickered. "This is so awesome!"

"I'm very jealous," Sheila agreed.

"Don't be. You get one of the first Mark Vs," Dr. Halsey grinned.

"Hot off the nano-fabricators of Prometheus Station," Aidan said as a robotic dolly wheeled out the armor. "Batteries included,"

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed. "You made a joke. About time. I was beginning to think you weren't capable of that,"

"And there goes my good mood," Aidan said, resigned.

* * *

><p>Jack was astonished by how small the <em>Stiletto<em> was. Halsey's borrowed sub-prowler was brand-new; apparently, Jack's influence had snowballed to include Slipspace technologies. It was humbling, and a little disturbing. The ship didn't have a hangar. Luckily, it didn't need one. It was more than capable of atmospheric flight. It looked like the oddly graceful offspring of a Longsword fighter and a pelican dropship, just slightly bigger than the former.

"We've got food, water, and fuel for well over a month," Sheila returned from checking the hold. "Six weeks, if you're not overly averse to dehydrated carbohydrate slabs. Which I sort of am,"

"Really?" Jack's interest was piqued. "How bad are they?"

"Imagine eating a piece of plywood," She said grimly. "It'll keep us moving, at the very least,"

"Do we have a water recycler?" Jack asked, and she grimaced.

"Yes. Let's hope we don't have to use it," She pulled out the gameboy-shaped device out and put it under what Jack considered to be the ship's dashboard.

It weighed a good ten pounds, and was the product of hundreds of years of miniaturization. They'd had versions of it even back in Jack's day, in NASA. Unfortunately, there was no way to magically make water. So, it got it from the only logical source: the crew. Or, to be more clear, from the toilet. Jack knew that, if it came to it, the recycled water would be safe. He just didn't want to taste it.

"Remind me… why do we need fuel?" Jack asked. "Doesn't this thing run on electricity?"

"It does. Barely," Sheila said. "The ion engines can move the ship. But to fly with any real speed, we'd have to stick with the tried-and-true UNSC engines. And those are not quite as economical as mini fusion reactors,"

"Damn." Big ships used their fusion engines for movement, but that didn't really work on a small scale. A scale that the _Stiletto_ fell in. So, like Longswords and pelicans, they were stuck with the classic methods of propulsion.

Jack wanted to fall into the pilot's chair, but knew he had to load the weapons. So he went back out and down the landing ramp, throwing the three hundred pound case of guns and ammo over his shoulder.

"What're we forgetting?"

"A pilot?" Jack laughed, then thought about it. Dr. Halsey approached them.

"Indeed. Here," She offered a chip of memory crystal.

"We can probably fly ourselves," Jack said sheepishly. "I mean, you're already loaning us the ship,"

"Flying a pelican is very different from flying a ship," Halsey smiled.

"I bet we could figure it out," Sheila said, and the doctor laughed.

"I'm sure you could, but interstellar flight isn't a skill set best learned through trial-and-error."

"Touché," Jack said. "Thanks, doc,"

"Don't thank me yet," She smiled. "Dock with the _Eureka_ before you jump. They've got some more cargo for you,"

The doctor then bowed out, leaving the Spartans at the ramp.

"Huh," Sheila narrowed her eyes.

"Huh indeed," Jack said with a grin. Then he went over to the cockpit, found a suitable-looking slot, and stuck in the chip.

On a holographic projector, a five-inch figure appeared. He was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, keg-bellied man in loose jeans, a greasy white t-shirt, and a black beanie. On his chin and neck was an impressive beard. To Jack, he could have been a trucker, factory worker, fisherman, or farmer. He looked like a stereotypical roughneck.

"What're you lookin' at?" He grunted, folding his arms.

"I'm Jack, and this-"

"Is Sheila, Spartans 035 and 132. Don't care."

Jack snorted in surprised affront.

"Who're y-"

"Name's Reg. Or Reggie. Anything but Regis, or God forbid, Reginald. Where's this bucket heading?"

"It's not a bucket," Sheila said, blinking.

"A well-crafted bucket is still a damn bucket. And I'm an AI that thinks more in a second than you do in an hour. I'm easily bored. So where is this pretentious, fancy-ass bucket heading?"

"Up," Jack grunted.

"Ah. A smartass," Reg nodded approvingly. "I may come to not despise you. Don't get your hopes up, though,"

"Don't worry," Jack rumbled. "So, what's wrong with you? Rampant or something?"

"Nah. Just got personality imprinted from a fine example of human arrogance. Just because you can make a billion credits on titanium mining, that doesn't make you intelligent enough to be the blueprint for an AI. Turns out my ol' brain donor was more of a gut-thinker than a brain-thinker, ya know?"

"So… Dr. Halsey gave us a retarded AI," Sheila said, cautiously exchanging glances with Jack.

"I prefer the term 'sluggish'. Or better yet, 'slothful.' Remember, any human brain can be AI-iffied," Reg paused to make a belch noise. "But I'm more than suitable for your purposes, I assure yeh,"

"Just get us to the _Eureka_," Jack said gruffly.

"Yessa Massa. Right away, massa," The AI mocked, before its avatar vanished.

"Hell of a pleasure cruise, huh?" Sheila chuckled.

"Oh, yeah," Jack sighed.

The ship rumbled as the thrusters spun up. Jack and Sheila buckled into the crash seats, just in time, because Reg gunned it immediately after.

"Attention, passengers of the _Stiletto_, this is your captain speaking," Reg announced in a comically authoritative voice. "There is no easy way to break orbit. Dithering around is stupid, and your discomfort means a lot less to me than saving fuel. Hold on to your collective asses,"

The _Stiletto_ rocketed up, using it's arrowhead-shaped design to slice through the rapidly thinning atmosphere. The two passengers were shaken like ragdolls, but managed to not die. After a minute, gravity faded away.

"Alright, folks," Reg said in the same voice. "If you look through the top of the cockpit windows, you'll see nothing but stars. That's because I don't think your view is worth the fuel to turn the ship upside down and give you the rather spectacular view of Reach from space. That is reserved for, well, _me_, through the topside cameras. But I assure you! It is pretty damn beautiful,"

"Reg, just shut the hell up," Jack said.

"Hm. Nah. Too much processing power, too few ship functions to run. Maybe I'll compose and sing you a song about the vastness of boredom."

"How about you contemplate the virtues of silence. Or even better, think about the permanence of death," Sheila said airily.

"Hey, step into my ring, sweetcheeks! I wonder how long you'd last in a digital firefight!"

"How long would you last if I shot up your core?" Jack growled. "No long. So shut up,"

"Shutting."

"How long till we get to the Eureka?" Sheila sighed. Silence.

"Reg… how long?" Jack said.

"Fifteen minutes. Space travel isn't as easy as you see in the vids-"

"Reg!" Jack shouted.

"Shutting."

"I'm getting suited up," Sheila murmured. "Wanna help?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jack grinned, and they headed to the cargo hold.

A few seconds later, the cargo hold's camera was destroyed, and its microphone likewise lost contact. _Damn teenagers_. Reg sighed, doing the Artificial Intelligence equivalent of twiddling his thumbs. Fifteen minutes was a stupendously long time for any AI, even one so rough around the edges. He ran simulations of what they might find at the Anomaly. He ran through the docking protocols dozens of times, before actually broadcasting them.

The _Stiletto_ had actually been docked with the _Eureka_ for half an hour before the two Spartans deigned to leave the hold. Reg felt like he would go insane, babysitting these two. At least they were in their armor.

The airlocks opened up, and they were shocked to see five marines around some Covenant. An Elite in gunmetal-gray armor and a Grunt that looked like it might be dancing. Or having a seizure.

"Jack!" He squealed, running up and tackling/hugging him.

"Kitik!" Jack returned the embrace for a second before pushing him away. "Irou! What're you guys doing here?"

"I seek a measure of redemption. It is good to see you again," Irou said. Jack was surprised to see the Sangheili offer his hand. Jack shook it, grinning under the helmet.

"Good to see you, too. Looking to fight with us, huh?"

"Indeed," Irou grinned with his toothy mandibles in a very non-comforting way. "If we do battle the Betrayers, that would be excellent. But any enemies would suffice. I itch for a good fight,"

"You aren't the only one," Sheila said, a little more reserved than Jack.

"It'll be good to have you with us. What's with the armor?" Jack asked.

"My standard-issue armor would have been acceptable, but your Halsey suggested replacing components and plating with more advanced versions. It is heavier, but much stronger. I anticipate testing it eagerly,"

"I know that feeling," Jack chuckled, feeling the MJOLNIR armor's light pressure all over him. It felt almost electric, how excited he was about using it.

"I can _cook_!" Kitik shouted.

"What?" Jack laughed.

"Our friend here has been eager to contribute, but didn't know how. One of our escort warriors suggested learning to prepare meals," Irou shrugged. "He has studied the subject… eagerly,"

"We don't have much of a kitchen onboard," Jack said.

"That's ok. I have this!" He pulled out a suitcase-sized object, opening it to reveal what looked like a stovetop.

"Well… ok," Jack said. Then he whispered to Irou, so low that only their hearing could catch it. "_Is he any good_?"

Irou just chuckled. Which was not reassuring at all.

"I'm Sergeant Howes, in charge of the escort detail," A burly marine stepped forward. "You have them under control?"

"More than you did," Jack chuckled.

"Alright. They're your problem, now," The gruff marine led his people away. One of the women snuck a fistbump from Kitik, though, winking at him. Kitik clumsily winked back as she left.

_Road trip!_ Jack thought with a chuckle. Sheila looked at him, but he shook his head, smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: It's here! I got the prototype book yesterday, and despite its flaws, I love it. My new prized possession. It's so shiny! And _real_! I got a lot of good entries for the contest. Unfortunately (and hilariously), the best of them came from people who didn't even want the book. So, I'm just going to draw straws. Maybe I'll set it up so people who really want it (all two of you) can pay for manufacturing and shipping costs, and get one. Maybe I'll throw in some of my original fiction in the back. I'll fix the mistakes, make it even shinier, and get back to you guys. Enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to review!**

"Come on, come on," Reg chanted.

Jack moved one of his pawns up. And Reg squashed it with a Bishop. Jack sighed. The holographic icons were gold on his side, and red on the AI's.

"Remind me why we're doing this?" Jack asked.

"Because you're so bored you're willing to lose six games in a row," Reg said.

"Oh. Right." Jack sagged into his seat.

Irou was meditating, Sheila was napping, Kitik was reading, and Jack was stupefyingly bored. There was nothing to do. There had been nothing to do for almost six days. Reach was right near the center of the UNSC empire, and the Anomaly was beyond the edge. It would take weeks in slipspace to get there, and that didn't include the stops for fuel. The _Stiletto_ was en-route to Eridanus II, which was as far as the Stiletto could go. From there, they'd head to Arcadia.

"I'm going to guess you're done playing," Reg sighed.

"Good guess," Jack grunted.

"_We'll be arriving in the Eridanus system in five minutes_," Reg announced over the intercom.

"Let's see if I have five minutes of sanity left," Jack groaned, rubbing his temples.

Sheila walked up and flopped down on the reinforced copilot's chair, which groaned alarmingly.

"You know, this armor is _ahhhh_-" She stopped to let out a massive yawn. "_hh_… Really comfortable. It's like a heavy blanket,"

"I know, right? I just wish I could sleep," Jack chuckled.

"You have been sleeping, honey," She said.

"Yeah, but nothing like you've been. Feels like this ship closes in on you."

"I know. It's like a tiny bedroom," She said happily.

"I think I'd prefer to sleep under the stars. More comfortable than between them…," Jack yawned. "Damn. It's contagious,"

"Greetings," Irou said, clomping up.

"Hey, Irou," Jack said. "Bored, yet?"

"I can exercise, meditate, and rest. It is sufficient."

"For now?" Sheila asked.

"For now," Irou agreed. "I'm looking forward to combat,"

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Jack said, reluctantly. "We're on a rescue mission. There's no guarantee there will be any combat,"

To his surprise, the Elite just chuckled.

"There is a sentiment among my people. Or maybe it is a proverb? I do not know. But Death does not follow in our wake; we follow it. Our adversaries, past and future, are destined to meet their end. We are merely Death's weapon of choice," 'Hirantmee gave a rare laugh. "Or perhaps we will meet our end. In that case, our enemies are the preferred implement,"

"You think that we'll get in a fight, no matter what?" Jack asked.

"Diplomats bring talk. Merchants bring trade. We are neither of those things,"

"We bring death," Sheila stated with a small amount of satisfaction.

"That's right," Irou agreed.

"What do I bring? Am I the deliverer of the deliverers of death?" Reg chuckled harshly. "Death deliverer squared. Yeh. Transitioning in three, two, one,"

A tiny tremor rippled through the ship, and the windows turned from pitch black to a field of stars.

"Oh. _Shit_," Reg groaned.

"What is it?" Jack barked.

"Eridanus is under Covenant attack," The AI said.

"Ah," Irou breathed.

"That complicates things. Let's go help," Sheila said.

"Do we have time for this?" Jack asked.

"We can't afford not to," Reg grunted. "We need to gas up,"

"Without that fuel, we might as well walk to Arcadia. It'll take about as long," Sheila said, cracking her knuckles.

"Then let's get to it," Jack took a deep breath.

These fucking kids were going to get themselves killed. Goddamn idiots! It's like they didn't know that they could do more than point and shoot. What were they going to do when the Majors, Ultras, or Zealots came? They were gonna fucking die, and Staff Sergeant Nick Reynolds wasn't going to beat himself up over it. If they didn't know how to fight, it wasn't his fault.

When he heard armored hooves clomping down the hall, he knew the door would slide open in a second, and he knew that the Elite would have the shielding and raw stamina to take down at least one of the dipshit marines defending Cornucopia Station. They didn't know better than to shoot and hope they wouldn't get shot. So he did something obvious, simple, and ridiculously easy. In a fluid motion, he flung a frag grenade, which tapped lightly against the base of the door. The Elite had to have heard it. It was either too stupid to wait a bit (Unlikely; these bastards were many things, but unfortunately, stupid was not one of them), or he was eager to score a kill. Or maybe he underestimated the frag's power, or thought he could run past it.

It exploded like a blast of thunder, tearing apart the alien's energy shielding and ripping open the skin of its legs. It staggered, roared in pain and anger, and then was hit by a barrage of assault fire. The three grunts at its side panicked, got fried.

"I don't expect you to _think_, but at least you can shoot straight!" Reynolds roared at one of the trembling marines.

"S-sorry, sir."

"I work for a living, asshole. You call me Staff Sergeant."

"Yes, sir-ImeanStaffSergeant!" He blurted.

"I'll kick your ass later. More coming," Reynolds straightened up, putting his MA5B to his shoulder.

These boots were louder and more numerous. Just Grunts. Hmm. Fear did its job alright, but maybe he could inspire them with something else. Nick stuck his AR behind his back and took out his shotgun. Then he crept to the side of the door. It slid open a second later, and three Grunts ran past without even looking at him.

The first two lost their heads under instant ten-gauge hailstorms. The third had already been shot by the kids-but not before sending a overcharged plasma pistol burst into a Private's face, who had been too stupid to dodge. The others looked on in horror. The corpsman for the squad fumbled with a medpack.

"Don't bother, son. He's dead," Reynolds pointed at two of them. "Drag his ass into the next room. Can't have you pussies distracted,"

Nick's sharp hearing picked up more hoof-beats. Lots of them.

"On second thought!" He shouted. "Take cover! Frags on my mark, then get ready to go full auto!"

The rest of them huddled behind their crates, their green marine BDU's blending in. Nick's steel-gray ODST plating fit with the backdrop of the titanium wall to his back. There was no retreat, here. They had to hold this insignificant little station or die; nowhere else to go. The navigational database had been preserved, in contradiction of the Cole Protocol, on Reynold's orders. That database was the only thing preventing the Covies from vaporizing the station with their ships. Nick knew he was tough, but didn't think he was _quite_ tough enough to take down an enemy fleet singlehandedly. It was on this ground, or not at all.

_A fine place for a last stand_. Nick thought, glancing at the marines. _Though the company could be better._

He thought of his squad, down planetside. Eridanus II was a war-torn colony. The UNSC and Insurrection had grappled over it for years. He'd spent months fighting there. It had the evacuation protocols and large-scale defenses before the UNSC had ever heard of the Covenant. His boys would be fine. And if not, then that was alright, too. Not everyone got to die a hero, but everyone eventually died.

"Mark!" Nick shouted, and five fragmentation grenades flew. Three Minor Elites were torn into little pieces. But two more Majors, and one Ranger, kept coming. Naturally, as the biggest, most menacing human there, much of the enemy fire focused on him. But his ODST armor was specially made, with Covenant metals he himself had salvaged from corpses. It was thicker, too. It would burn like a motherfucker later, but he was still standing, now.

But they weren't. Concentrated fire killed one Major Domo, then another. But not before green Carbine rounds burrowed into two marine's foreheads. Nick swore and fired on the Ranger, but he was a quick 'un, dodging around most of their assault rounds. He used his jets to fly to the other side of the crates the marines used for cover. One of them was kicked so hard his ribcage collapsed. Another was stuck with a plasma grenade. The last one, a freckled young man, actually dropped his rifle and tried to cover his face with his hands, crying out in fear, and not jumping away, as his friend detonated in a blue fireball that consumed them both.

Nick ran right up to the Elite and fired his shotgun into its lightly shielded, unarmored belly. It coughed purple blood onto his visor as he racked the slide, using the next shell to blow off its head.

Well. That _would_ have been a nice last stand. But sadly, he wasn't one of the corpses scattered throughout the room. He could tell because those plasma burns were starting to hurt like hell. Luckily, the corpsman hadn't been one of the folks blown up. He was burnt, sure, but the medkit looked undamaged. Nick knew he didn't have time to address his burns correctly, so he just took a hit of morphine. As the warm pressure bloomed under his skin, he smiled. It never failed, that morphine. Not like the dozens of fallible human beings he'd seen screw up and die. Morphine was something to rely on.

He heard noise a little ways off, and shouldered his shotgun. It didn't sound like the patter of Grunts or the clomping of Elites. Not even the tapping of Jackals or the stomps of Brutes. But it wasn't the rhythm of marines, either.

Nick got behind the crates, stepping around the gore. It would suck to slip. The door opened again, this time with two heavily armored hulks. Huh. He checked the FOF tags.

"Stand down, marine," Jack barked.

"I don't take orders from Petty Officers, even if they are Spartans," Nick grunt, but stood up and slung his gun over his shoulder.

"Our ship is docked, but there's no guarantee of it staying safe for long. We need to fuel up," Jack said.

"You're in the wrong place, swabbie. This is the Nav center, but the bridge is twenty meters down the hall. And your head's up your ass. This ain't a gas station, and if you've got a ship, then it's got to be used to defend the planet."

The big guy exchanged glances with the lady Spartan. He sighed.

"Help us gas up, and we'll do all we can. But there are a half-dozen Covenant ships down there. It might take them a few hours to start, but Eridanus II is getting glassed. No way to stop it," Jack said, stone-cold.

"Then let's get some civvies away," Nick growled. Losing marines was one thing-they'd signed up in wartime, knowing they might end up dead. And more often than not it was their own stupidity that killed them. Civilians were something else entirely.

"We've got our own high-priority mission, and a small ship," Jack said in a pained voice. "We can't take in strays. But we'd be happy to slow down the Covenant,"

"Then let's get you fueled up," Nick said. "Follow me,"

The veteran ODST opened the door to the left, sprinting down the hall. Jack and Sheila followed him easily. As they ran, double doors down the hall opened, and Covenant poured out. The three opened up, tearing the Grunts and Jackals apart before they could bat an eye. Then two Elites entered the fray. In two long strides, Jack ran around Reynolds, jumped, brought his knee up to his chest, and launched his foot into the first Elite's chest. The armored chest collapsed inward, and Jack's boot rode it to the ground, as his hands worked the heavy assault rifle. The massive bullets chewed through the second Elite's shielding, armor, and meat.

Jack hadn't needed his thrusters for that maneuver. He liked that. He liked that a lot. The extra juice had boosted his shields, which were barely touched. He _really_ liked that.

Another second, and the rest of the enemy were mopped up. Reynolds had actually pitched in quite a bit-three Grunts and a Jackal were riddled with buckshot.

"Not bad for a Marine," Sheila commented. Nick scoffed.

"That's good, 'cause you chumps are falling well below what I've come to expect of Spartans," He said. "I have to make up the difference,"

"Fuck you, too, then," Jack said casually.

"You've fought with Spartans before?" Sheila asked, somewhat less offended.

"Twice. It happens, in a long career. But don't we have somewhere to be?" Nick said.

"Let's move," Jack grunted.

They ran to the bridge. When they got there, Sheila followed Reg's instructions, routing fuel to the docked _Stiletto_.

"If we're gonna distract the Covenant long enough to save some civilians, we can't have him shoot our friend in the back. We'd better tell him," Sheila said.

"You sure?" Jack asked. "He's kind of a dick,"

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Nick said.

"Did you hear something?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"There's someone you should meet," Sheila said.

"First, gimme the shotgun," Jack demanded. Nick grumbled, but complied.

"Irou, unstealth for a second," Jack called out. In a far corner, the Elite materialized.

"Holy shit!" Nick went for his magnum. Jack batted it out of his hand.

"He's on our side, you idiot," He shouted.

"Yes, I am," Irou intoned.

"Hmph," Nick said. "Fine. But if I see you make a wrong move, I'll gut you like a turkey,"

"If you are as observant as you are eloquent," Irou calmly said. "You won't see me at all,"  
>Then he faded back into invisibility, Nick swearing under his breath.<p>

"Don't we have a job to do?" Sheila asked.

"Give me back my goddamn shotgun," Reynolds muttered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: And the winner is... Sarge1995. Send me your address, and I'll send you the free copy. Whose awesome? You're awesome! Also this chapter, I think. Remember to review! Oh, and not to diminish Sarge's incredibly awesome victory, but I'll not scared enough of Bungie to not sell. I'd give ya'll a free one, but alas, I am poor. If you want to buy one, PM me, and I'll give you the link. Review! The more happy I am about this story, the more often I'll update. **

"Why don't we just bring in the _Stiletto_?" Jack asked over the com.

"_Because the Covenant aren't retarded_," Reg said. "_You're going to go crush some baddies, right? That'll stir up a lot of chatter. They'd realize that you popped out of thin vacuum. Which means they would look for me. And I'm sure you know this, but things that are looked for have a better chance of getting _found,"

"As long as you don't get killed… deleted…. Whatever. Right?" Jack asked sarcastically. "That's what matters,"

"_Well, if I do get erased, you're pretty much hosed. You're _dead,_ to the UNSC. If they find you, under their noses, in a warzone, completely fine, heads will roll. Including the good Doctor Halsey's pretty little head. Don't want that, do ya_?"

"No," Jack said. "I just wish you'd be less callous about our lives. Pelicans are a lot more vulnerable to being shot down than stealth ships,"

"_Only when they aren't remote piloted by a genius, who shall remain nameless_," Reg proclaimed. "… _I meant me_,"

"Yeah. I got that," Jack said as Sheila, Irou, and Nick piled in to the station's one pelican.

"_Besides, even if you did get shot down, I'm pretty sure you'd survive the impact. I've run some simulations. Don't go too fast when you hit. It would help if you bailed_-"

"Reg. Shut the hell up," Jack barked from the pilot's seat. _That_ was the last thing he needed on his mind. He set the ship for autopilot.

"_Let's blow this station!_"

"Is there something wrong with your AI?" Nick grunted, buckling up.

"Yes," Irou answered, without a moment's hesitation. The crash-seat straps barely fit his chest.

Jack climbed back, sitting between Sheila and Irou, opposite Nick. He strapped in double-time. The pelican shuddered and lifted clear of the station's hangar.

"Well, damn. Aren't I unpopular?" Nick said, grinning.

"You're an asshole," Sheila said, not apologetic in the slightest.

"I prefer to be called a dick. Assholes are just full of shit. Dicks? Dicks know what's important in life."

"You're disgusting," Jack said, but he was fighting a smile under his helmet. _I gotta use that later_, he thought.

"So what's with the armor?" Reynolds asked.

"It's new," Sheila said, obviously grinning under the visor.

"Not you. _You_," He jerked his head at Jack. "What's with the helmet? And those shoulder plates?"

"The helmet is one of the choices I had. I like it," Jack defended the JFO armor. "And these are Commando shoulder plates. Pretty solid protection from plasma,"

"Might as well have glued titanium bucklers to your upper arms," He grunted disapprovingly. "Do they restrict your movement?"

"Not as much as you might think. It's a trade-off. I never liked getting my neck burnt," Jack said.

"Boy, if there is a part of your body you do like getting burnt, I'll bring ONI Psych Corps on your so fast, you'll be on a couch before you can say 'antipsychotic medication'," Nick laughed, and so did Jack.

"Once we save Eridanus, you can bring all the psychologists you want down on my head. I can take 'em."

"I thought you said Eridanus was doomed?" Nick said.

Damn. He had. And he meant it.

"Who knows? We might get lucky," Jack said.

"'Lucky' is not getting stuck with a plasma grenade. Repelling a Covenant invasion single-handedly is pretty much outside the bounds of luck," Reynolds cackled.

Huh. Maybe people were polarized by the company they keep. Reynolds didn't exactly inspire optimism. More like provoke it.

The pelican shuddered and rolled.

"_Getting some AA fire. Evading. We're entering Eridanus' atmosphere_," Reg announced. "_And by the way, you'd need to bail before-and this is very important-before you_-"

"Shut the hell up, Reg!" Sheila hollered.

"_Gotcha_," The AI sighed.

"Do a scan. Passive. Find out as much as you can about the situation planetside," Jack said.

"_Duh, passive. There are four Covenant frigates and a destroyer in orbit. Only one not-destroyed UNSC ship, the frigate Locke. Heavy damage. They've run with their legs tucked between their legs. Loading civilians. The Covie ships are all… hmm… surrounding a three-mile patch of ocean. Deployin' ground forces. No glassing. Weird_."

"There are relics," Irou spoke up. "Forerunner artifacts. The destruction of the planet will not commence until they are secure,"

"Then we have to stop them from getting them," Sheila said. "Easy enough,"

Jack saw Irou tense up, mandibles flexing. He was agitated. While he had rejected the Prophet's edicts, that was far from turning him agnostic. Those relics were still sacred to him.

"We just need one. We grab a small one and run," Jack said, quickly. "They won't risk destroying it. We can help the evac by delaying the Covenant,"

"And then what? Hard to picture a good way to escape from five ships," Nick said.

"Extraction could be tricky. Hell, _getting in_ sounds impossible," Sheila said.

"Not for us, it's not," Jack muttered. "Sweetheart, feel up to a swim?"

Reg had contacted the _Locke, _setting up something passable as a diversion. While the ship itself loaded with thousands of civilians, it was also dumping gear. It would need to be lighter to break orbit. That ordnance was essentially being tossed in the garbage, allowing more civilians. Which, in a way, was a shame. There was some damn nice stuff getting tossed out. Reg had plenty of processing power to spare. He offered to remote-pilot the Locke's contingent of pelicans, longsword fighters, and shortswords bombers. He didn't have the processing power for anything fancy. Which was just fine, seeing as the plan was to blow them all up.

Irou and Reynolds had to stay at the _Locke_. Nick was helping with the evacuation, while Irou hid in the corner, active camo his only defense. Sheila and Jack was on a pelican in the center of a small fleet. Two dozen small ships were arrayed over the city, with the only crewed vehicle in the center.

Sheila and Jack required remarkably little. Packs of compressed air were attached to their armor, as well as a backpack-shaped device that could adjust their buoyancy. Most UNSC weapons worked nearly as well underwater as they did on land. Jack expected to have an edge, here; Reg said that plasma weapons would be virtually useless. Air and vacuum was one thing, but liquid would expend plasma bolt energy before it got ten feet from the shooter. Jack was expecting lots of bubbles and hot water.

"_I'll get you right over the Forerunner stuff_," Reg said. "_Once you're in, sink as fast as you can_,"

"Roger that," Sheila said.

Jack was sitting comfortable with his massive MA5SO, rolling with the motions of the pelican. Sheila was tense.

"Hey. You good?" Jack asked kindly.

"Yeah," She said quickly.

"We'll only be down there for a half-hour, tops. Once we grab one of those antiques, the Covies won't dare shoot at us," He said reassuringly.

"They've got a lot of ships," She said warily.

"You know my little secret?" Jack asked. "I read all the books. Trust me on this. They'd rather lose all those ships than damage those Forerunner leftovers,"

"Alright," She cradled her Heavy Marksman Rifle.

All around them, destruction abounded. Pulse lasers slammed into the small ships surrounding them, reducing the midget fleet dramatically. Hydraulics rumbled as the hatch on the pelican opened.

"Well. Crap," Sheila sighed, standing up.

Jack blew her a kiss and jumped out, backwards. He saw her follow a second later. The pelican boosted and rammed into a nearby frigate, with little effect. The guitar riff of a violent old rock song ran in Jack's head, and he could help but grin. He gripped his rifle tight; barely feeling it when he cannonballed into the water. Half a ton of MJOLNIR armor sunk like a rock, aided by the buoyancy-adjuster bladder on his back.

Jack got a little worried after thirty seconds of straight sinking. Visibility dropped to near-zero. His armor was able to maintain its surface pressure. He wouldn't need to worry about the bends. It was a little startling when he clanged back-first against an unyielding metal surface.

Sheila touched down, more lightly, a few seconds later. Jack clicked his flashlight on. A smooth, gently sloping surface. Light only went so far. They could just barely see a square obstruction a hundred feet off. Jack gestured, and they waded towards it. As they got closer, they saw it more clearly. It was roughly telephone-booth sized. There was a computer interface. As Jack approached it, a holographic sphere of interlinked hexagons appeared. Jack hesitated.

This kind of interface was common enough in the games. Should he just…? What would happen? Would it open? Would it exterminate all life in the galaxy? Jack shook his head. This was probably just some old Forerunner ship or something. It certainly wasn't a weapon of galactic scale. He put his hand on it.

The hologram glowed cool blue and disappeared. The projector folded into the booth. Then the whole thing smoothly sunk into the structure. For a second, the metallic surface was seamless. Then the square of inscribed Forerunner metal sunk in further, clicked, and slid to the left. In its place was a square hole, which emanated a green light. It looked something like a gravity lift. Jack stepped towards it. Sheila grabbed his arm.

"Hey. Come on. It'll be ok," He said as soothingly as he could. He slowly stepped in, floated up, and then down.

"_Jack_!" Sheila screamed over the comm. He looked up and only saw the tunnel, with a rapidly shrinking window of ocean above him. He was falling, disconcertingly fast.

"It's fine! Just an elevator!" Jack yelled.

"_Are…. kay_?" Sheila staticy voice asked.

"I'm fine," Jack said, just as the lift deposited him gently in a dry room. There was the engraved, angled Forerunner architecture all around. Oddly, the room was stuffed with bones. The ground was coated in moldering corpses. They had to be ancient. And very alien.

Jack could only appreciate a desiccated, near-fossilized crab claw for a moment before he saw something else: Two Elites. Jack's rifle barked, far louder than he was used to, and in two-thirds of a second, ten rounds completely eviscerated the Elite. Four rounds for the shield. The rest tore it up.

He raised an eyebrow, before the other alien tossed a plasma grenade at his faceplate. Jack, in a moment of inspiration, whipped out his sidearm. Holding it by the barrel, he caught the grenade. It stuck to the handle.

Jack waited for a split second, then tossed the pistol as hard as he could. The grenade was an inch from the Elite's mandibles when it exploded.

Then Sheila popped in.

"Well… that was spooky," She laughed shakily, eyeing the bones and the Elites. "Your handiwork?"

"Yep. Come on. Let's find something worth stealing."

"Alright. Any ideas where to start? The books tell you anything?" She asked.

"No," Jack said. "I didn't know this kind of thing existed. Let's move,"

"Alright."

When they left the room, they found themselves in a hexagonal space. Six walls. When Jack looked up, he could see hundreds of feet up. It looked like a tunnel to the top of the place. All along the floor were remains.

"Christ. What happened to them?" Sheila asked.

"I don't know. Why are they all here?" Jack wondered. Could these date back to the Forerunner war with the Flood? Why hadn't they turned to dust, by now?

"There's air. But it's the same kind as the stuff the Covenant run through their ships: Trace amounts of methane and xenon," Sheila said. "These bones would have had a hard time disintegrated without oxygen,"

"Not anymore. Can we bag some up? ONI might like a look."

"I don't have anything to put them in," She said regretfully.

"Halsey's gonna kill us," Jack murmured. "But we've got a job to do,"

On the opposite side of the room was another door. They started towards it, but before they'd gone a foot, the door opened. The Elites' friends. Three blue Minors, two red Majors, and eight Grunts. At the front was a massively tall Zealot with dual plasma rifles. On his hip, Jack spotted an energy sword.

There was no cover, in this massive room. Jack and Sheila fired, and the shielding on the Elites faltered. But the Zealot jumped and dodged, rolling towards them, unsheathing his sword. One more jump like that and he'd be on them. All the while, the Covenant squad fired on them.

Jack and Sheila's boots crunched old bones as they ran back into the room where they'd entered. They might be able to deal with that Zealot up close, but not with a dozen other plasma weapons blinding them and dropping their shields.

Jack jumped to the left side of the door, and Sheila on the right. When the Zealot charged in, he swung his sword to the right-Sheila barely ducked under the hissing plasma. Jack roared and charged. Not bothering with his knife, he used his superior strength to grab the Elite's sword wrist. With a powerful wrench, he snapped it. The Elite howled in pain, and Sheila pulled her knife out. But Jack didn't feel like sharing. He snatched the sword out of the Zealot's hand. Then he grabbed it by its serpentine neck and slammed it against the wall, hard enough to make it cough blood.

Jack, without a moment of hesitation, inserted the sword, tip to handle, in the Elite's writhing mouth. Its eyeballs boiled out, then its brains. He pulled out the sword.

He looked back to find Sheila duking it out with one of the red-armored Elites, holding her own quite nicely. But Jack didn't like things trying to kill his girlfriend, no siree, he did not. So he cut the Grunt charging him in half in a smooth arc, before stabbing Sheila's Elite through the back.

That still left three Minors. Jack turned his head just in time to catch an absurdly powerful kick to the face. His overcharged shields were cut in half, and he was launched into the wall. Sheila shot it six times in the head, then donkey-kicked the Elite trying to flank her with an energy blade on its wrist. Jack shook his concussion off for long enough to riddle the Sangheili with massive bullets. The last one swung a Needler, which Sheila dodged. Then she sent a right hook to its jaw, which it did not. Without shields, it was a simple matter for Jack to shoot it.

Eight Grunts left. Jack got up. Sheila pumped round after round into Unggoy heads, taking out four of them. Jack primed a frag grenade.

He slammed it into one's face. Through the mask and teeth. He expected it to turn and run. But, sadly, it was either unconscious or dead. He'd hit it too hard. So, before it could fall to the ground, he kicked it at its buddies, who promptly exploded.

"Wow," Sheila exhaled. "Note to self: Swords are dangerous in close-quarters fighting,"

"Agreed," Jack said, rolling his aching jaw. Then he picked up the sword he'd dropped after getting kicked. He stuck it to his hip. "Damn. Those things can _kick_,"

Sheila laughed. "So can I,"

"I saw that!" Jack chuckled. "Damn. Poor guy never had a chance. Remind me never to piss you off,"

"Aw. You're so sweet," Sheila said prettily. Jack blushed.

"Come on," He chuckled.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Note: A little shorter, but with plenty of awesome, I think. But it doesn't particularly matter what _I_ think... remember to review!_**

"This place doesn't look like it's made to be taken apart," Sheila said, after a minute of searching. "What if we can't find anything?"

Jack thought a moment. There wasn't some central object that the rest of the building was built around. There was a little pedestal in the rough center, but nothing on it. Just the spherical holographic interface, and who knew what that would trigger. There was nothing small and important-looking. Not even something small and unimportant. Didn't the Forerunners use _chairs_?

"If we can find a good way out, we can hole up and delay them. That's what's important," Jack said. "We just need to find an escape route,"

But aside from the grav lift that had carried them down and a sister lift on the opposite side, there didn't look like much.

"How could this thing be so big on the outside and so small on the inside?" Sheila wondered. "I mean, it can't all be armor, can it?"

Why would the Forerunners, or those dead aliens, set up a ball of metal in the middle of the ocean? With only two ways in and out?

"Did I tell you about the Flood?" Jack asked.

"No... What're they?"

"A parasite. Pretty heavily described in the books. In a long, drawn-out war, the Flood wiped out the Forerunners, as well as most of the rest of life in galaxy. The Forerunners built Halos to destroy them: Massive ring-worlds. The Flood were unstoppable, and the Forerunners knew that the only way to finish them was to kill off their food supply,"

"So what did they do?" Sheila asked.

"They used the Halo rings to wipe the galaxy clean of sentient life. The Flood starved. When they were all dead, Forerunners included, machines they left behind re-seeded some of the lost life. That's why there are humans, Elites, Grunts, everything."

"But if the Flood were going to kill everything, then they would have starved anyway, right?" Sheila asked.

"Huh. I guess so, yeah," Jack said.

"So… The end was the same. Why did the Forerunners build the Halos? Why not just try to save who they could?"

"Well…," Jack thought a moment. She was right. If the Flood were going to eat everything anyway, then they would have killed themselves off. Right? So why go through the trouble of building gigantic holocaust machines, when they could have saved themselves?

"I don't know. But maybe that's what this is: an early bomb shelter. Heavily armored enough to sink to the bottom of the ocean. Only two ways in or out. Those rooms would be pretty defensible, if used right. The Flood would have had to work to crack this egg," Jack shivered.

"But it didn't work," Sheila said, tilting her head curiously.

"The Flood don't leave things behind to fossilize. If they did, we'd find them all over the galaxy. If doom was coming at you that fast, you wouldn't have time to build something permanent. Maybe these aliens were expecting to be rescued, when the Forerunners recaptured the planet. The Flood were never able to break in, but they weren't kicked off the planet, either. I think these aliens all starved to death."

"God. That's awful," Sheila looked around the central room. There was hundreds of square meters. Hundreds of corpses. "I would have died fighting. Way better to die fighting,"

"Not against the Flood, it's not," Jack murmured. "They wouldn't have let you stay dead. They would have brought you back, used your body to kill other people. The Flood mutates its hosts into killing machines for its own purposes,"

"Stop," Sheila barked. "I don't want to puke inside this shiny new helmet. More Covies should be coming any second. What are we going to do to get out of here?"

"I don't know," Jack said quietly. He stepped up to the pedestal.

"I wonder what this'll do," He said.

"Maybe it's built to repulse the Flood, once they'd gotten here. It might kill the Covenant," She said.

"Maybe it'll kill everything on the planet. If it operates on the same principles as the Halo rings, then it should have more than enough power to do it," Jack said.

"I don't think so. And they're dead anyway, if we can't hold the Covenant off a little longer," Sheila said carefully.

"We promised them time," _If the Covenant attacked before they left, they wouldn't be able to get away. They needed a head start. Which we might have taken from them._

"There's nothing else we can do," Sheila said. "Push it,"

"We can hold them a little longer, before resorting to that. When it looks bad, we'll push it together," Jack said softly. Then he gently grabbed her hand. "If this was a bomb shelter against the Flood, then this could activate a self-destruct. I don't want to test it until we have to,"

"Alright," She sighed. "We'll live through this,"

"Of course we will. Spartans never die," Jack grinned.

Their motion trackers flared.

"Time to go to work," Sheila said.

"Hold them. But be willing to lose ground. I'll take the lift on the right side, you take left. We'll meet here to push the button."

"I love you," Sheila said.

"I love you, too," Jack said. "More than you know,"

"See you in a minute," She said.

Jack nodded, and headed to his lift. He walked right up to the glowing grav lift, igniting the energy sword with one hand and holding his oversized AR in the other. The motion tracker contacts were faint, but one grew more solid every second. Jack bent his knees and rested on the balls of his feet. He crossed his body with the sword.

The gravity lift was too narrow for a Hunter. But not for a Brute. A massive alien jumped in, firing his spiker even before he was clear. Jack could have taken far more than a few of the projectiles, but sidestepped them anyway.

The Brute's pea brain was occupied with firing the weapon and landing on its feet, so Jack was pretty much uncontested as he leapt, sword sliding into the hollow of the Brute's through, the tips pointing out of the small of its back. Jack kicked off, sending the gurgling corpse careening into another Brute's legs as it fell into the room. The stupid monkey faceplanted into the Forerunner metal floor, a split second before Jack pumped two big bullets into the back of its head.

Then came a stream of Jackals, plasma pistols charged. They fanned out, taking bullets on their shielding. Funny how they were a considerably bigger threat than the Brutes had been. Jack kicked out at the top edge of one shield; crushed a Jackal skull against the wall behind it. Using a thruster burst, Jack barely dodged an overcharged burst, arcing his sword over the top of a shield, neatly and slicing a head in half.

The last burst hit him dead-on, draining his energy shields. Jack viciously barreled into the Jackal. The half-ton of Spartan destroyed the shield and the Jackal. And left an ugly stain on the wall.

Two more contacts, and his shield hadn't even started to charge. Jack holstered the nearly-depleted plasma sword. Instead, he picked up an undamaged Jackal shield. Sticking his gun in one of the cutouts, he chewed up three Grunts even before they'd hit the floor. His shield recharged.

Curiously, just one motion tracker contact left. It grew solid faster than the others had, and Jack was knocked off his feet as a massive gray-furred Brute Chieftain fell down the lift and slammed a burly shoulder into his helmet. The alien hefted a hammer, much faster than Jack expected it to, and brought it down on Jack's chest. Or would have. Jack rolled to the side just in time to not die, but still caught enough of the explosion to be hurled into the wall. His shield was cut to nothing, and there was a spot of blood inside his helmet.

"A bloody fate awaits you, demon," The Brute didn't growl as much as thunder.

"Ladies first!" Jack didn't yell as much as cough, igniting his sword and jumping to his feet.

"A blade? Fitting, for one so incompetent," The Jiralhanae sneered.

"I'll be wearin' your teeth around my neck before I leave," Jack snarled, swinging wildly.

The Brute wasn't an idiot. He backstepped and swung, using the hammer's range to force Jack to duck. It swung the hammer around in a long, fast arc, and before Jack could blink, it was slamming down by his feet. The explosion felt like his legs had been crushed by a steamroller. But instead of folding into the wall like his body demanded, he bounced off. He set his foot on the head of the grounded hammer. The sword hissed towards the Brute's mouth-

It caught his wrist. With a contemptuous flick, Jack was flung into the far wall, minus the sword.

_This shit is getting old_, he thought, staggering back to his feet.

"Your bones will adorn my armor," The Brute growled.

"I've killed bigger things than you," Jack panted. But… had he? He'd fought a Chieftain before, kind of. But he'd killed that stupid bastard with vacuum. Not up close. This one was faster and stronger than him. His assault rifle lay far behind it. His sword was a harmless handle by its feet. But he did have some advantages.

He pretended to lean against the wall, sucking in a few breaths. The Brute chuckled and raised the hammer-

Using all his strength, assisted by his thrusters, Jack lunged. In a football-style tackle, he drove his shoulder into the Chieftain's gut. Just like his old coach had taught him, his feet churned under him. Jack smashed the Brute into the far wall. Up this close, the hammer was essentially useless. Jack drove his knee into the Brute's groin. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have much effect.

One of its gigantic paws smacked the side of his head, bending his neck more than he'd thought possible. Jack blinked away stars. Then he jumped away, towards his almost-forgotten assault rifle. Jack rolled to his feet, rifle in hand, just as the hammer slid past his head. Jack opened up.

The massive rounds ate into the Brute. It staggered forward, hatred burning into Jack's visor, then fell to the floor. Motion tracker showed new contacts coming in. Jack took one breath, then stomped as hard as he could. The Brute's blood and brains spread across the floor.

Then he ran. Grunts and Jackals streamed in the lift. Jack tossed a grenade over his shoulder, and met Sheila at the holographic display. He tore off his helmet, and so did she. He kissed her passionately, intensely, trying to get as much of her as he could before pressing the button that might kill them both. Then he pushed his hand down on the display.

The structure rumbled and shook. The Spartans put both their helmets back on. Sheila grabbed his hand.

Suddenly, they both felt a pull on their guts. The weaker Covenant soldiers fell to the floor. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. _Elevator going… up_.

"It wasn't a self-destruct. They were waiting to push the button and meet up with the Forerunners if the planet was retaken," Sheila said, laughing.

"Holy shit. That was scary," Jack said.

"Yeah," Sheila said, shooting a Jackal that was trying to get up. Jack was pulled by the gunshot back to reality.

"Alright. Let's mop these guys up."

A lazy sweep of the place finished the rest of them off. Jack changed magazines, grinning.  
>"<em>Come… Hey…. You there? Guys, answer me<em>," Reg grunted on their personal channel.

"Hey, Reg. We at the surface yet?" Jack asked.

"_Bit past that. You really shook up the bees' nest. The Covenant are ignoring us entirely. Oh, and by the way, you're in space_."

"What?" Jack exclaimed.

"_Flying_ _pretty fast, too. Faster than the Covenant can. Which is to say, pretty damn fast. From energy spikes in the hull, I'd guess you've got thirty-seven seconds before you jump to slipspace_."

"This thing is too small for slipspace!" Sheila said.

"_Apparently not. Getting your trajectory out-system, now. We'll do our best to pick you up once you arrive. Wherever you're going to arrive. Hmm. Well, that's interesting-"_

"Transfer yourself here, right now!" Jack barked.

"_How? Over the radio? Don't be stupid,"_ Reg chuckled. "_Wow. Running out of time. Say hi to mom and pop for m…_," The radio cut out as the bomb shelter/submarine/spaceship entered the slipstream.


End file.
